Wrong Impression
by finnishvixen
Summary: Set after the series finale. Sam returns to the VCTF to help out Rachel as well as start her life with Bailey. Now, all she has to do is to get through to a stunned and disbelieving Bailey.
1. Calling Out

(I own nothing. Word of warning: I plan to focus on the SBR, not actually getting Rachel out of prison. Oh, and I didn't watch the series after Ally left, so if some details are wrong, you'll have to excuse me.)

**CALLING OUT**

Bailey cursed under his breath as the elevator doors slid shut. The elevator started its downward journey, and he contemplated the day ahead. He was returning from a meeting with Rachel and her lawyer. It had been four days since Rachel had been taken into custody; four days since the conniving congress woman had withdrawn all funding from the VCTF, giving them mere weeks to wrap up or transfer open cases before the task force would be closed for good. What a damn mess.

The elevator reached the VCTF floor and he stepped out, heading straight to his office. Agents were still milling around, more determined than ever to give their best foot forward even though the clock was running out on them.

He reached to push down the door handle and grasped empty air; his office door was open, and what's more, his office was occupied. He saw that John was half-sitting, half-leaning on his desk, and George and Grace were sitting in the armchairs. They weren't looking at him, but at someone sitting on the sofa. His gaze followed the eyes of his subordinates, and he stilled in surprise, his heart skipping a beat.

"Sam?"

Sam turned her head instantly to look at Bailey, the thoughts of whom who'd started consuming more and more of her waking life. Her dreams had been a lost cause since the day she'd quit. She thought she'd steeled herself for seeing him again, but now that the moment was here, she could barely refrain from spilling her guts out right then and there. She beamed at him and said gently: "Hey."

Bailey looked shell-shocked, which was an apt description of the tumult of emotions coursing through his mind. Joy, relief, love, guilt, shame, all mixed into each other. "What are you doing here?"

She stood up from the sofa. "Say hello first, Malone. We can fight later." She expected him to step forward and give her a fierce hug, but instead, he remained where he was, seeming, for all intents and purposes, rooted to the floor near the coat hanger. He continued staring at her, and after ten seconds, she was forced to make light of the situation, in part to hide her own confusion. "Or now."

There were many things she cherished about her relationship with Bailey, one of them being that no matter how much time had passed since seeing one another last, they'd always been able to pick up and carry on from where they'd left off, as if they'd just parted ways the day before. She was beginning to realise that things might be different this time around, and it scared her a little.

The other agents in the room exchanged awkward looks before they jointly excused themselves from the office and filed out past Bailey, who was slowly beginning to snap out of his shock. He took off his coat and put down his case, to buy time for himself. He was wary of her presence; or rather, what it was doing to him.

She looked at him, half nervous, half thrilled to be seeing him again. "Don't I get a hello?"

He sighed and took a good look at her: "Sorry. Hi, Sam." She flashed him a smile and he was overwhelmed with the desire to close the gap between them and kiss her. Not a good train of thought, he reprimanded himself. To stay clear of such impulses, he repeated his question: "What are you doing here?"

The fact that he hadn't given her a hug stung her a bit. It meant that he was trying to keep his distance, and for the time being, she couldn't ask him about it. Not at the office, and not during the workday at least. She might as well explain why she'd come back.

"Grace called me three days ago, told me that the funding for the task force had been pulled, and what's more, that Rachel was behind bars. Care to explain to me why _you_ didn't call me?"

"And tell you what?"

"That the VCTF was in trouble, that Rachel was being stalked! I don't know if you remember this, but I was a part of the task force once, and oh yeah, I know a little something about stalkers," she chided him. He'd gone to sit behind his desk, and she examined him closely. He looked tired, battle weary, really. The events of the past months had taken their toll on him, and he'd never been one to take care of himself properly. She'd had to remind him to slow down on several occasions, not to mention try to keep him from carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She pressed for an answer, more gently this time: "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" A small smile danced on her face.

"You retired," he offered as a way of explanation. His voice sounded equally lost and resigned.

"And what, you haven't heard of the phone?" she teased. "Well, I'm here now, so let's get to work."

Work? She was here to work again? To that, he had to object. "Sam, I can't let you help you with the investigation."

"Why not? I'm here because I choose to. I want to help. I've already cleared it with the regional deputy chief."

"But Chloe..."

"Chloe knows that I have to do this, and I gave her my word that nothing would happen to me, that I'd never be in harm's way. I promised to call her every morning and night. She trusts me. And you need to trust me when I say that I want to be here."

Bailey was about to interject when John strode into the office, anxious to get the ball rolling. "Did you kiss and make up already? We have cases to solve!" Both agents lamented in their minds that they were light-years away from making up, let alone kissing.

* * *

The hours flew by, with Sam familiarising herself with the cases Rachel had been heading. She soon fell into her normal working repartee with John, Grace and George, but she and Bailey couldn't find their groove, both too perturbed by the emotions they were going through.

At half past seven, the core agents of the task force decided to call it a day. This raised the question of where Sam would be sleeping in the minds of the two best friends. Sam had been hoping to stay at Bailey's place, so she could broach the second reason for her return as soon as may be. Bailey was torn between wanting her in his home and fearing what havoc she might wreak there.

Grace forced the issue to come to a head. "Sam, I didn't even think to ask if you'd want to sleep at my place. It's a little small, but you can fit in with me and Jason."

Sam shot a nervous glance at Bailey, trying to figure out a way out of her predicament. "Thanks, Grace, but I promised Chloe that I would sleep at a hotel. That way, she knows I'm coming home soon. Can't afford a long stay," she joked.

Grace watched Sam and Bailey exchange glances at one another, never allowing their eyes to linger for more than a few seconds. Things were definitely haywire between the couple. "Oh, alright then, I'll see you tomorrow." Grace bestowed a hug on her friend. "It's great to have you back, even if it is only for a short while."

Sam smiled at her friend. "Thanks. Give my love to Jason." Grace nodded and exited Bailey's office. Sam watched her go before fixing her eyes on Bailey, who was looking at her. Neither wanted to jump the gun, as it were, and make a decision about her living arrangements back in town, a decision that seemed formidable all of a sudden. As the silence spanned, their inability to commit to one or another recourse of action started to daunt them.

Finally, Sam relented, her heart just the tiniest bit broken. She would have to climb over many more walls than she'd anticipated to get to Bailey. "So... I guess I'll go check into my hotel. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." As Sam gathered her stuff and walked out, Bailey was seized by a wave a self-loathing. She'd obviously wanted to sleep at his place, so why hadn't he offered? He should have offered, but his walls of self-preservation had been in place since the day she'd quit, and he feared what would happen if he allowed just the tiniest fracture in them. His denial, his stubborn refusal to embrace his feelings for Sam had tied him up in knots for the past eleven months. And yet, he couldn't let his guard down.

He tidied up a few files on his desk, cast a look at the deserted main floor of the task force, and got up to trudge to the elevator. He picked up his suit case from the floor and took his coat off the hanger. He pressed the call button absent-mindedly and closed his eyes, reliving instantly his surprise at the sight of Sam. He disbanded his thoughts of the blonde and pressed the call button again, noting that the elevator wasn't making the whirring sound of descending or ascending. He realised that the elevator must be stuck somewhere. Had Sam made it out before the elevator stopped operating?

He dropped his belongings and returned to his office, quickly dialling the number of the lobby. The clerk answered on the second ring. "Federal Robert Ressler Building, lobby."

"This is Special Agent Malone. It seems like the elevator number five isn't working."

"Yes sir, we just noticed and alerted the super."

"Has Samantha Waters exited the building?" Sam would have sign out at the lobby desk when she left, owing to the fact that she wasn't a current employee.

"No, sir, she hasn't."

"So she must still be on the elevator."

"Sir, no one has made contact from inside the elevator."

"No one?" If Sam were trapped, why wouldn't she contact the lobby? Or him? He felt a chill run through him. He asked for the lobby officer to wait on the phone while he tried to reach Sam on her cell phone. The call rang for a long time and finally went to voice mail. Bailey didn't bother leaving a message.

"Do you know if the elevator is stuck between floors?"

"It's stuck on the floor -2. We should have the doors open in a few minutes." Floor -2. He was on floor -7. Five floors to climb up. "Open the doors as soon as possible, and open the electronic lock on the staircase door leading to floor -2. I'm taking the stairs." Bailey hung up, ran to take a bottle of water from the canteen and jogged to the door leading to the staircase.

* * *

Sam let out a sigh as the elevator doors closed. Not the glorious welcome back she'd expected. Well, she knew she wasn't in a position expect much of anything from Bailey, but her hopes had gotten the better of her. It was clear that she'd need much more time before she told Bailey her real reason to come back.

Sure, helping out Rachel was part of it; the redhead had rescued her and she felt beholden to help her in turn. But a considerable part had to do with the fact that she'd missed Bailey every day since her departure and had come to tell him how she felt, tell it in words this time and pray he'd reciprocate the feelings.

She was startled out of her musings when the elevator jolted to a stop. The doors didn't open, so she checked the floor screen and pressed the button for -2, to no avail. She pressed other buttons, too, but the elevator made no sign of function.

She tried to stamp down the rising wave of anxiety, of feeling trapped. She hadn't been a fan of closed spaces since she'd been held captive eleven months ago; in fact, the surest way to trigger a flashback was to feel trapped, enclosed in a space with no means of escape. She tried to get her breathing back under control, to relax her mind, but her heart kept pounding in her chest and her surroundings began to swim with light, reminiscent of the room where she'd been held against her will.

The flashback had claimed her, and so she didn't hear Bailey's call, lost in the memories of her torment. The flashback lasted only a few minutes, but it left her physically exhausted and mentally drained. She was attempting to breathe normally when the doors flew open. She realised she was on all fours, so she stood up with some effort and staggered out of the elevator, steadying herself by reaching out to the walls. She made it clear of the doors and she let herself slide down to the floor, to lean on the wall while sitting down.

That is how Bailey found her a few minutes later, emerging from the staircase running next to the elevator shaft. He could see with a glance that she hadn't coped well with her entrapment. Her head shot up at the sound of his approach. She offered him a feeble smile but was unable to stop her head from lolling back to meet the wall.

He hastened to kneel beside her, placing the water bottle on the floor. He placed one palm under her chin while he gingerly pried her head off the wall and made sure she hadn't drawn blood. Finding no sign of injury, he placed his hands on both sides of her face and looked her in the eye. "You okay?"

"I am now. But for a while there... Not a particularly nice experience," she admitted, happy to be regaining her strength. She closed her eyes and took a moment to enjoy Bailey's proximity, the feel of his hands on her cheeks and the heat of his body, so close to hers.

Bailey watched as her eyes drew shut and she concentrated on breathing. He realised that his thumbs were moving involuntarily, caressing her cheeks; something she didn't appear to have realised. He moved his hands, one clasping her shoulder and the other finding the water bottle he'd brought for her.

She opened her eyes, feeling bereft at the loss of tactile contact. She took the proffered bottle and tried to prise it open, but she hadn't calmed down enough and her hands continued shaking. She dropped the bottle and shook her hands, trying to release the pent-up fears still coursing through her veins.

Her hands still betrayed her emotional upheaval, and she was about to tuck them behind her back when Bailey reached out and enclosed her hands with his. She happily let him hold her hands for a moment, before her desire for a more hands-on comfort won out. She broke off Bailey's hold on her hands, reached out to the lapels of his coat and pulled him towards her. Her hands remained there, while her head ended up just above her left hand. Bailey wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head, to be closer to her and to monitor her breathing.

"Did you have a flashback?" She gave a tiny nod. "I don't think it was a good idea for you to come back."

She tugged on the lapels of his coat a bit, frustrated: "I had the flashback because I was trapped, not because I came back to you. Okay?"

Back to me? Bailey chalked her words up to her distressed state. "Okay." He wouldn't let Sam spend the night in some anonymous hotel after her ordeal, and so he wondered how to mention it to her, so soon after his obvious refusal to extend the offer in the first place. He decided to just bite the bullet. "You're staying at my place, alright?"

Sam breathed out a happy acquiescence. She was in Bailey's arms, and that was all that mattered at the moment. She suspected she'd climbed over one wall tonight after all.

* * *

Bailey listened from the kitchen as Sam talked to her daughter on the phone, explaining the change in her accommodations. They then talked of the little girl's day, and he tuned out, puttering with a late dinner and trying to control his racing mind. She would be sleeping in the small guest room, and she'd taken some clothes out of her bags before calling Chloe.

He couldn't help but wonder what would become of this fine mess they were in. On top of the fate of the task force, he would now have to contend with his feelings for Sam. He'd brushed them aside eleven months ago, and even before she'd quit, he hadn't had time to grow comfortable with his new-found feelings.

He wasn't sure of his footing with regard to his beautiful best friend. In the moment they'd said goodbye in her office, he thought he'd glimpsed unspoken love in her gaze after she'd handed him the letters. Later, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, he'd begun to suspect that he'd imagined the look loaded with meaning. He felt guilty for even imagining such a thing, just as he felt guilty for his own feelings. The last thing Sam needed was for him to tell her he'd fallen in love with her, his best friend, somewhere along the way. She would see his confession as destroying their friendship.

Bailey realised that Sam was approaching him, still on the phone: "Here's Uncle Bailey. I'll talk to you tomorrow morning. I love you. Bye." She handed the cell phone to him, and he greeted the little girl.

Sam signalled to Bailey that she'd take over the cooking duties while he talked on the phone. He ambled to the living room, finally ending up on the sofa. She observed him surreptitiously while he spoke with her daughter. He was lively, warm, engaged – something he hadn't been with her up to this point.

She couldn't blame him; she knew he must be wary of her return. He seemed to keep a strict leash on his emotions, and that was something that pained her, as it was such a drastic change from the way he'd been before. Before what? Before she'd left. You made your bed, Sam, and now you have to lie on it.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. They were still fumbling along in their discussions, not daring to approach any personal topics. At eleven, Sam decided to call it a night, and after a brief exchange, Bailey had agreed to go to sleep, too. They both retired to their bedrooms, hoping that the new day that was to greet them in a matter of hours would guide them.

In the middle of the night, Bailey stirred awake by a quiet noise. He listened intently, but couldn't hear it again, and yet he knew he hadn't imagined it. He decided to check on Sam. He padded quietly to her bedroom, only to find the bed empty. He glanced at the bathroom, but no light came under the door. He then realised he'd heard the soft click of the patio door. She was out in the back yard.

He walked out on to the patio, and saw her kneeling down, near the bushes on the left side of the yard. He walked toward her, not caring that the late hour meant that the ground was cold and wet with dew.

Sam was petting the cat she'd heard meowing after she'd stepped onto the patio. A nightmare had woken her up, and she needed some fresh air before she'd be able to fall asleep again. She heard Bailey call her name quietly and turned around to watch him. He was wearing a t-shirt and boxers. She gave her feline friend one last scratch before standing up. He was already by her side.

"Hey. Why are you up?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I just woke up, couldn't get back to sleep."

He peered at her. "Was it a nightmare?"

She attempted to spare him some worry. "No."

His eyebrows shot up high. "Yeah it was. Damn it, Sam..."

"It isn't a big deal. It's only to be expected after a flashback. My mind was just sorting out the memories," she pacified him. She watched as the cat ran along the bush, disappearing into it when he reached the corner.

He mulled over her words. The memories of days she hadn't shared with him. He hadn't read the case file which included her account of the events. Doing so would somehow violate her trust. "Do you have flashbacks often?"

"Tonight was the first in two months. It only happened because I was trapped, not because..."

Bailey was tired, thereby accounting for his lapse of judgment: "Not because you came back to me. I know."

She stiffened suddenly and cast a wary look at him. Had she really said that to him? Granted, she had been quite shaken by the flashback, so it didn't come as a huge surprise. She wondered how he'd taken her words. By all accounts, it seemed like he hadn't guessed the true meaning of her statement.

Bailey squeezed her shoulder and said: "Come on, let's go back to bed."

She looked at him to see the same withdrawn mask in place on his face, and suddenly she knew she couldn't go through another day of the same polite chit chat, the same mind-numbing distance.

She called out after him: "Bailey, I'm sorry if this startles you or upsets you, but the truth of the matter is... I did come back to you. _For you._" He slowly turned around.

"I came back because I'm in love with you."

_TBC..._


	2. Falling Out

**FALLING OUT**

Bailey stared at Sam, in her light blue pyjamas, bare feet and her hair up in a loose pony tail. Had she just said what he thought he'd heard?

She drew a deep breath, her heart in her throat. At his lack of response, she asked in a surprisingly steady voice: "Bailey? Did you hear me?" Her hands were shaking, so she clasped them tightly together. He opened his mouth a few times, but he said nothing. Why wasn't he saying anything?

Out of the many things Bailey might have expected to hear from Sam at this time of night, in this setting, her words weren't even in the same galaxy that he and she were occupying.

Realising that she was waiting for a response from him, he struggled to form a coherent sentence. The first thing that came out of his mouth was: "Uh, could you repeat that?"

She walked up to him, stopping at three feet. "I said I came back because I'm in love with you."

He swallowed when he heard the last five words and looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face, still at a loss for words. He focused his stare on the tendril of hair that had escaped the pony tail, now framing her face.

Sam tried to stay calm even though fear and worry were creeping up her spine at his lack of reaction. Summoning her courage, she prodded: "How do you feel about my words?" That was the gentlest way of putting him on the spot she could think of at the moment.

He looked away, then at the house. "Let's talk inside." She agreed silently, following him back inside. She knew that she'd sprung her feelings on him at the unlikeliest moment, so she tried to reason that he would need some time before he could respond, before she wanted him to respond. Nonetheless, there was something disconcerting in his demeanour. It seemed like her confession of love was on the same level as a confession to alien origins might have been.

And that was what really worried her. Hadn't he been expecting her confession? At all?

Bailey wondered at his own non-responsiveness at Sam's declaration. Was it the timing that shocked him? Or the fact that she'd declared it in the first place? Maybe this was all a dream, brought on by her sudden return. No, it couldn't be. He hadn't been this numb in dreams featuring this exact scenario.

He turned on a few lamps in the living room and sat down on the sofa. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch, separated from him by a two-foot distance. Nervous, she rubbed her hands on her pyjamas and waited for him to say something.

He turned to face her. "Sam, I don't know how I feel about what you said. But, I guess the closest feeling would be surprise."

The pit of worry in her gut solidified. She sat up straighter, trying to prevent fidgeting. "Why are you surprised?"

He sighed, then a sad smile appeared on his face. "Based on the last time we saw each other..."

Sam's heart beat faster and she interrupted him. "The last time we saw one another was in my office. You mean to tell me that my feelings, the way I feel about you, was somehow unclear on that day?"

He looked at his hands. "I don't know. I thought you tried to communicate something to me, but as time passed..."

Her left arm stretched out involuntarily, coming to rest near him right shoulder, but not touching. "Bail, I never meant to leave you with the wrong impression. I love you, I loved you then and I had probably loved you for a long time leading up to that moment." She turned silent, waiting for her words to sink in. He gazed at her, evermore passive.

"I broke my heart and I knew I'd be breaking your heart by leaving. Somehow, a confession of love would have seemed absurd then. I just... couldn't say the words, 'I'm leaving you but I love you'. I'm sorry about that."

Barely able to utter the words, she asked: "How do you feel about me?"

The moment upon him, he told her the truth of his heart: "I love you, too." A look of bliss overtook her face, and she couldn't help repeating herself: "Honey, I love you, too."

They looked at each other for a moment, the confessions gradually sinking in and becoming reality in their minds. But whereas Sam's burden had lightened with her declaration, Bailey still felt the shackles that had him tied up in knots.

She watched as a familiar shadow crossed over his face. Worry started nagging her again. "What is it?"

Bailey closed his eyes. How could he explain to her the thing tormenting him when he barely knew it himself? "The truth is, I do love you. But, the truth is rarely pure and never simple."

"What do you mean?"

"That in my time of being in love with you, I've also been broken-hearted. I don't know how else to explain it."

At his words, she looked down, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't just your leaving. My heart broke the first time when I had to acknowledge the fact that I might not see you again." He sighed and closed his eyes, clearly living through the pain of that moment. "And then, you came back to me, but left so soon. I was quite lost as a result." He paused for a while. "In the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you something. I had a... brief flirtation with someone."

"I see," Sam managed to croak out. She had to collect her thoughts. He'd been in love with her but had still engaged with someone else. Did she have the right to ask him anything? After all, she'd left him with a broken heart, which she'd known at the time. Did she have the right to expect his fidelity during her undetermined absence? Well, he'd shared it, so he wanted it out in the open. That, in turn, suggested that she could ask him a few things plaguing her.

"You used past tense. Is it over?"

"God, yes," he replied passionately.

"Was it... serious?" The pause in her question was a loaded one.

"No!" He was quick to respond.

"Do you want to be with her?" She had to know.

"Absolutely not," he sounded resolute.

Sam was more relieved than she would care to admit. "Okay. Good. Would I know her?"

He hesitated for a beat, trying to come up with a way of identifying the floozy. "No. She was the congress woman who pulled the task force's funding."

She was thrown for a loop. "Her? Wow... I have to know, how did this come about?"

"I guess I was lost and she pursued me." He looked dejected.

She had to put him on the spot, get to the root of the problem. "What I don't understand is, if you were feeling lost, why you didn't come to _me_."

"I just couldn't. You were putting your life back together, taking care of Chloe. You didn't need to carry my burden."

There it was. "Honey, you didn't need to carry your burden alone. God knows you shared my burden for seven years."

He shrugged, defeated by her reasoning. He didn't have a proper answer for her. "I guess I thought I'd better go at it alone."

There was that wall again. Sam chose to tease their way out of their impasse. "I see you still think you're the cause and solution to everything. I wonder how I will disabuse you of that notion," she remarked. Bailey smiled at her, remembering her accusation from years ago.

"How do you feel now?"

He knew he would end up disappointing her, but he opted for the truth. "I honestly don't know."

She couldn't keep a hint of hope from floating into her words: "Maybe you just need to grow comfortable with the knowledge that I love you. Find your bearings, so to speak."

"Maybe. I'm sorry, I know I must have disappointed you."

"No, you haven't. I'm actually quite elated with the fact that you do love me. You just need some time to figure out everything else."

She glanced at the clock. They'd been up for thirty minutes. The waking world would beckon them in a matter of hours. "Let's go back to sleep," she sighed.

* * *

After a subdued morning, the agents arrived to the task force together. He attended to checking for updates on Rachel's case, while she stationed herself in the command center, working with George.

Later, having had an overview of the cases the task force had been handling, Sam was going over new forensic evidence or witness statements attributed to each case. She would confer with Bailey on which cases would be suitable for which profilers stationed in other cities.

A few hours had passed when Sam knocked on Bailey's door. "Hey. Do you mind if I work in your office? I can't concentrate out there in the command center," she explained.

"You don't want to work in Rachel's office?"

"Uh, not really. It isn't my space any more. I'd feel like I was imposing."

Bailey accepted her reasoning. "Sure. You're welcome here."

Sam smiled. "Great. I'll be by in a few minutes." He watched as she turned around and strode across the task force to the command center. Time would tell if her presence in his office would prove to be a distraction. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted it to be the case.

His concentration was scattered as it was, his mind reliving the events of the previous night on a seemingly endless loop. He still didn't know how he felt about it.

Sam's arrival disrupted his reverie. She carried a hefty pile of case files in her lap. She put them down on the table and flopped down on the couch. Opening the file on top of the pile, she asked him: "What are you working on?"

He swept his hands over his face, to dispel his thoughts of the blonde. "Going through transfer requests and recommendations for the staff."

"Ah. Well, I think everyone will find a job in the Bureau," she offered feebly. She wasn't about to ask him about his own plans after the task force closed its doors. One ambush in 24 hours was enough. Still, she would bring it up sooner or later, both for her own mental health and also to satisfy her curiosity. She was curious if he'd had time to think about the next step. Although, she was willing to bet he hadn't really spared a thought for him since the word came down.

He was looking outside his office, his expression glum. She reminded him of the here and now: "I've gone through the open cases. Maybe after lunch we could go through some of them? You could be my sounding board for the profilers I had thought of for a few cases."

He nodded and returned his gaze to the documents on his desk. Sam also set to work.

They kept their heads down and powered through. By sheer force of will, Bailey was able to concentrate on work. Of course, that meant that he was oblivious to the world at large and wouldn't let his eyes stray from his desk. Sam was having a harder time of it. She was out of practice when it came to profiling, the couch didn't exactly lend itself to comfortable working, and time and again her thoughts would stray to the night before, before she stopped that particular train of thought.

Bailey hadn't even realised Sam had been away when she placed a salad container in front of him. "What's this?"

"Lunch. I figured you wouldn't take the time to go buy it yourself," she explained as she handed him cutlery. He inspected the container, then looked at her with an inquisitive look. "You brought me a salad?"

"It's a pasta salad. You're Italian, don't tell me you don't eat pasta salads," she uttered in a flat tone.

"I'm half Italian," he grumbled.

"You may want to reconsider your tone before I decide to not bring you coffee, mister," she teased him from the couch. He shot her an exasperated look before diving in.

Taking in his surrender, she remarked gleefully: "You did good. Tomorrow, I intend to lure you away from you desk while we eat."

"Really? I'm surprised you aren't feeding me as we speak," he shot back gruffly.

She asked in an innocent tone: "Oh, would that do it for you?" He nearly choked on his food as Sam watched on, thrilled at his reaction. Once he'd been able to swallow the mouthful, she saved him the trouble of responding: "Baby steps, Malone. Baby steps."

* * *

Both armed with a steaming cup of coffee, she was sitting on the couch and he on the arm chair, ready to review what cases would be forwarded to which profiler.

Sam picked up four case files and handed them over to him. "About this case where the killer holds the victims for ever longer periods of time... I think we should give it Agent Foster."

"Eric Foster?" he clarified, considering her proposal.

She nodded. "Yeah. The rushed way the victims are killed, it's almost an afterthought in the whole proceedings. It's more about the time he spends with the victims, like in a kidnapping. I think this would be right up Foster's alley."

He needed no more selling. "Okay, I'll track him down. What else?"

She picked up two case files. "These empty parking lot killings should go to Henry Wilkington."

"He retired a few months back."

"Really? I didn't know that." Henry had been in her graduating class at Quantico. "What is he doing now?"

"I heard organic gardening."

"Organic gardening? Huh." She was tempted to ask Bailey of his plans, since the moment to bring it up naturally had presented itself, again, but she thought better of it. Clearing her throat, she moved swiftly on: "Let's see, do we know anyone else who'd be an expert in rage killings?"

* * *

Sam ambled into their shared office at the close of the day and started tidying up her things. "Will I see you later at your place?"

Bailey was puzzled. "Later?"

She clarified her question. "It's Wednesday. Isn't this your gym day?"

She still remembered even that minuscule a detail. He hadn't actually planned on going tonight, but now that he considered it, a furious workout might be just the thing. "Uh, yeah." Luckily he had some spare gym clothes with him at the office at all times.

"Okay, so I'll see you later. I'll catch up with Grace at her home and then take a cab back home. Er, your place." He nodded, appearing not to have noticed her slip of tongue. She picked up her bag, remarking: "I'll fix us something to eat tonight. It might run kinda late."

"I don't mind."

"Great. Enjoy your gym visit, Rattle snake. Bye!" she shot at him with a smile from the door.

* * *

"Grace, can I just ask what happened with Morgan? You two had been together for such a long time." Sam and her friend were sitting in the small but comfortable living room. Jason was sitting on the floor, playing with the purple dinosaur toy Sam had bought for him.

Grace sighed, looking for a way to explain the turn of events. "He was the love of my life, but he wasn't the man I'd raise my child with. I don't know what happened. We just... drifted apart."

"I'm so sorry about all of it," she uttered and squeezed her friend's hand compassionately.

"Thanks. It seems like all of us have had a terrible year. Me and Morgan, George and his addiction, what happened with John's girlfriend... You and Bailey... What with your kidnapping and then retiring. He's been a mess ever since."

Grace wondered if she'd dare to pursue that last topic of discussion. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? "What exactly is the deal with you and Bailey?"

Sam had never been one to discuss her personal affairs in great detail, even with close friends. In fact, the only people with whom she wouldn't and couldn't withhold anything were Angel and Bailey. Thrown by her own acute feelings on the sensitive and messy subject, Sam tried to hedge her way out. "What do you mean?"

Sam was awarded with a pointed look that spelled out 'are you kidding me?'. "Come on, you know what I mean. You two have been treading on egg shells ever since you got back. It doesn't take a profiler to know something's up. So, what is it?"

Sam took a sip of her wine, fishing for time, trying to figure out how much to share. She had Bailey's feelings to take into consideration, too. Grace recognised her stalling and played her trump card: she picked up Jason into her lap. "Come on, tell Jason. You know you want to. Who could say no to this face?"

Sam laughed and reproached her friend: "You don't play fair. But fine. I can't speak for him, but I'll tell you something. There isn't much to tell, really," she reasoned at Grace's sour expression. Sam shrugged her shoulders: "I told him I love him last night." Grace gasped and Jason looked at his mother, curious at her reaction. Grace put her son back on the floor and prodded: "And what did he say back?"

"That he loves me, too." Grace let out a squeak and leant over to hug her friend. "This is wonderful news!"

Sam laughed at her friend's reaction. "So I take it we have your blessing." They broke off the hug.

"God, yes! Why were you two acting like you aren't ecstatic?"

Sam sighed. "Because we aren't sure what we're feeling. I have to face up to the fact that I was gone for nearly a year, and I broke his heart by leaving, although never intending to do so."

Grace considered Sam's words. "But he knows why you had to leave."

"He doesn't blame me, far from it. He's just more careful in guarding his heart."

"You mean gun-shy? He'll get over it," she exclaimed with a dismissive hand gesture.

Sam tried to comfort herself with her friend's steadfast assuredness."I hope so. We didn't even kiss. Was that too much information?"

"No kiss? You poor things! Also, there's the rub. I say, you just plant one on him. That'll knock that gun-shyness right out of him," Grace said with utter confidence and a knowing wink.

"Would that I could," Sam sighed. She knew that a kiss, however enticing a concept to her, wouldn't take down his defences and she didn't want to push him.

* * *

Bailey was working up a sweat, trying to release his tension through physical means. He'd chosen the heavy bag at the gym and was now into twenty minutes of his punching drill. Taking out his frustrations and confused feelings. Trying to beat out his numbness.

The trainer stepped away, signalling that it was time for a break. Bailey took a breather, drinking some water. The break usually provided him with time to assess the ferocity of his workout, how to exert himself more. Today, the breaks only served to act as moments when his thoughts would, unbidden, center on Sam.

What would he do about his beautiful friend, one who'd confessed to being in love with him? She'd taken the news of his brief interest in another woman surprisingly well. The whole thing had been a mistake from beginning to end. Thankfully it was all over. Another brunette, another doomed relationship. Although to be fair, his second chance with Janet had come to an abrupt end, too. Because of Sam.

He both dreaded and looked forward to going home. She would be waiting for him. He started the drill again.

* * *

Bailey walked in through his front door to be greeted with a peculiar sight: Sam was kneeling on the floor, in front of the book case, with piles of books on the floor. The stereos were blaring a decidedly up-beat song, and she was dancing to the music, as much as she could from her kneeling position. He took the sight in, somewhat amused. The song ended as he closed the door, and Sam became aware of his arrival.

She glanced behind her and beamed at him. "Hey! You're home!" She giggled, explaining needlessly: "I'm sorting your books a bit. They weren't alphabetized, you know."

"I know. I'd arranged them in the order in which I bought them."

She looked appropriately bashful. "Oh. Did you wanna keep them in that order?"

"It's fine. Why are you doing that to begin with?"

She made a grand sweep of the place by her hand. "It just caught my eye and I decided to do something about it," she snickered. Catching onto her good mood, Bailey stepped closer and peered at her.

"Sam? Did you happen to drink something at Grace's?" She was still organising the books, but spared him a glance from her job at hand.

"I may have had two or three glasses of wine," she dismissed his enquiry.

"And did you eat anything before that?"

"Stop worrying about me! I'm fine. I will tell you something." She took a dramatic pause. "I'm seriously considering getting a pet. Like, a cat," she said gravely whilst looking at him, as if she were confiding some big secret.

Bailey fought the urge to laugh. "Uh huh." He looked at the kitchen, where there was no sign of cooking going on. She guessed his thoughts: "I cheated a little. I bought take-out. I'll cook for you tomorrow."

"You don't need to do that. I'll get the laundry going, and then I'll serve the food."

Sam shot up to her feet. "No, I can do that. You go attend to your washing," she shooed him in the general direction of the bathroom. He did as she requested, and while he was throwing his clothes into the washer, he wondered how the evening might progress with a tipsy Sam. He'd only seen her drunk a handful of times; at her graduation from Quantico, her wedding to Tom and the evening she'd been awarded that Women in Law Enforcement prize. Reminiscing those nights, he evaluated her behaviour. Based on his recollections, he guessed that she'd be more bubbly and affectionate. He wondered if she'd call him honey again. Not that he would particularly rue the occurrence.

Five minutes later, he re-emerged to the kitchen to find a steaming plate of Thai food waiting for him. Noticing his presence, she asked: "What would you like to drink?"

"Water's fine." She nodded and poured both of them a glass of water, after gulping down one glass by the tab. She quirked her lips and reasoned, "I don't want a hangover. Tomorrow's only my third day back on the job. What would my boss think?" He shot her a long-suffering look and she chuckled. They sat down around the kitchen island to eat.

"How was your workout?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"Good," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Did you and Grace catch up?"

She cast her eyes on her plate, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, we had a nice time. Jason is so big now! He was adorable." She wondered whether or not she should confess that she'd told the pathologist of their joint declarations from the night before. She didn't think her friend would let anything slip at work; Grace was very discreet that way. But, the matter concerned Bailey, and he had a right to know.

"Bailey? Grace asked me point blank about you. About us. I told her the truth."

He took some time to digest this. It was out there, now known by three people omitting himself. Three occasions of his inner feelings being revealed. For nearly a year, he'd thought he'd gone through the most painful moment of self-awareness when Rachel had pointed out his feelings. But that had been nothing compared to the turmoil of last night. He'd felt elated and crushed, right at the same time. Hearing that someone else was privy to his feelings did upset him a bit, but he knew Grace wouldn't treat it as a juicy piece of office gossip.

"Are you mad?" she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. "No. At least I now know how to pry secrets out of you. I need to get you drunk."

She crunched her nose, looking a little displeased. "This isn't fair. I have yet to find out your weak spot." She mused for a while. "It's not kryptonite, is it?"

Bailey laughed, replying: "No, as I once told John, I'm not Superman."

Her curiosity couldn't be contained. "When did this occasion arise?" She was thinking the story would be from the past eleven months.

"On the day Doctor Zahn held you hostage in Washington," he answered without missing a beat.

"Oh." She continued eating, reminiscing the day in question. It felt like a lifetime ago. Coop had still been alive, Jack had still been stalking her. And it was only three years since it had happened. Shrugging off her thoughts, she picked up the game again.

"So, we've ruled out kryptonite. Oh, does it have something to do with the tides? Will I have to wait for the morning to find out?"

Puzzled by the random questions she was shooting his way, he replied off-hand, not realising the loaded nature of his words until it was too late. "You don't need to go searching for it. It's you." He chanced a glance at her, to see her look a bit stunned and pleased. She flashed him an alluring smile. "Good to know." He hastily returned his attention back to his food.

The rest of their dining proceeded without incident. Sam announced that she'd finish the reorganising of the books on the floor, while Bailey insisted that he be allowed to do the dishes.

Sam was putting the last book into the bottom shelf when Bailey walked to the corner next to the kitchen island, opened the small cabinet and produced a bottle of Scotch. He poured both of them one finger. She took a look at the glasses and tutted: "Are you trying to pry some secrets out of me?" He held up his left hand, declaring solemnly: "No hidden agenda, I swear." She stood up and grabbed her glass. "Are we toasting something?" He shot a look behind her. "Knowing the alphabet?" She giggled. "I'll drink to that, thank you very much."

They passed their evening catching up again, this time wading into more personal waters but still steering clear of the most pressing matter: their relationship.

* * *

Sam took a deep breath and glanced at Bailey, who was on the phone. She had immersed herself in the case concerning Rachel, trying to find compelling evidence for the FBI's internal investigation and the assistant US attorney to not press charges against the lead profiler. The case was based on circumstantial evidence, so she was puzzled as to why the charges hadn't been withdrawn already. She would need to discuss it with the man currently on the phone.

His distraction gave her an opportunity to observe him freely. He had opened up in the last day, but she still had no idea what was going through his mind when it came to her. Would he be able to let go of his misgivings and pursue a relationship? When would that happen? Time was of little matter to her; she would let things progress at his pace. The thought giving her pause was whether or not he'd take the final step. Something was holding him back.

Sighing, she got up and headed for the cafeteria. It was lunch time, and she was determined to lure him away from his desk to eat. Five minutes later, she returned to his office to see that her work was already done: he was sitting on one of the arm chairs, reviewing the case files of Rachel's stalker. Deciding that it would be best to let this victory go unmentioned, she put her tray on the table and plopped down on the couch unceremoniously. When he made no gesture to start eating, she pointed the food out to him. "I brought you some fried chicken and salad. Dig in."

He waved his hands impatiently. "Yeah yeah, in a minute."

True to his word, he started munching on the food shortly thereafter. He didn't want her crowing in the face of her victory, so he steered the conversation to the charges against the profiler who'd filled Sam's shoes. "What do you make of it all?"

She looked irritated. "It's a pretty clear-cut case. I can't see why the FBI internal affairs hasn't cleared her already. When is the investigating agent due here?"

"He already visited once, on Monday. A by-the-book pain in the ass if there ever was one."

"But any forensic psychologist would determine in a day that the murders aren't Rachel's doing." She took a beat to ponder something. "You think this is something else? Like political or, I don't know, somebody having a beef with you or Rachel?"

He looked decidedly cagey about her questions. "I have considered it," he offered in a non-committal response. He avoided her gaze and she cottoned onto his plan immediately.

"And how is Casper these days?" she asked straight up with a sideways glance at him. He had to smile at how well she could read him. "Oh, you know. Being secretive."

"Has he gotten back to you already?"

"I'm meeting him tomorrow, at noon." He could see a plan forming in her head.

"Can I come with you?" Her question surprised him. She shrugged her shoulders, explaining: "What? I like him, and I never got the chance to thank him for his help."

He didn't think the elusive back channel man would mind; after all, Casper had approached her for her help when Bailey himself had been incapacitated. "Fine, you can come."

He saw her quickly suppressing a smile and guessed her intentions. "You're thinking of ways to incorporate lunch into the meeting with Casper, aren't you?"

* * *

Sam called Chloe while Bailey, once again, attended to the dishes. When Sam joined him in the living room, she found him engrossed in a case file, with many others strewn about the coffee table. She sashayed her way to stand in front Bailey while blocking the rest of the files and snagged the offending item from his hands. "Malone, it's past nine in the evening. You're off the clock." She closed the file and threw it on the others. "It's time to relax a bit." He arched his eye brows and was about to retort to her words, when her expression silenced him. She looked both curious and mischievous.

"Do you still have your bike? Can we go on a ride?"

He shook his head. "It's missing a few parts. We can't." She looked positively deflated when she heard the news, but rallied her spirits quickly. "Can we work on it together? Does it need a tune-up or whatever?"

He chuckled. "Why are you so eager about this?"

She rattled off her reasons: "Well, you should get your mind off work for a while, and I figured, what better than some menial task? Knowing you, it's either the gym or the bike, and since the gym isn't an option right now, the bike it is," she grinned.

He heaved a heavy sigh for the sake of appearances. "Fine, we'll go and see it." Her face lit up and she scooped up the files, then walked briskly to the guest bedroom and emerged ten seconds later. "You'll get those back tomorrow morning. Shall we?"

Bailey led the way to the garage. The bike was under a tarp in the corner. He wheeled it closer to the center of the garage.

"Well? Let's see you at work! What can I do?" she asked while inspecting some items in the toolbox placed on a narrow table off to the side of the garage. "You can hand me the tools. And supervise," he rushed to add when he saw her disappointed expression.

Bailey started fussing with the bike whilst laying down, and Sam sat on the ground, enjoying the sight of him working at something he loved. He started relaxing within minutes.

After a while, she thought it only polite to ask him a few questions about his prized possession. "Does it have a name? Your bike?"

He chuckled. "No, no name."

"But it does have a gender, right? In the depths of your thoughts, it has a gender."

"I plead the fifth," he mumbled and she snickered. To take her mind off the matter, he asked her to hand him the red pliers. They then lapsed into a comfortable silence again.

Next, he opened the conversation. "I haven't worked on my bike with someone since Frannie moved out."

A small smile flitted across her face when she pictured the dad-daughter team working on the Harley together. "How is she? Are her studies going well?"

"They are. She's more sure than ever that she wants to have English lit and psychology as her major and minor." She was happy that the troubled daughter had turned into a confident young woman. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"She came by for a few days on her spring break. Hand me the cleaning cloth. Thanks."

She took in his actions. "That was it? All done?"

He looked at her, apologetic. "I can't do much more to it without the parts."

"Oh. Can I sit on it?" she asked on a whim.

Amusement flickered on his face. "Do you want to?"

"Yeah, I do," she uttered, eyeing the bike with excitement. Bailey backed out of her way and she stepped closer, inspecting the Harley.

"Wait. It isn't going to fall on me, is it?" She shot him a worried look.

"No. We'll leave the main stand standing and I'll be on the other side, ready to catch you."

His words allayed her concerns, and so she gripped the handlegrips, kicked her leg over with the practised ease of a horseback rider and settled on to the bike. She focused on balancing the bike off the stand. "I had no idea it'd be this heavy." She smiled and started inspecting the bike closer, tracing the features with one hand.

She was so engrossed in her actions that she was oblivious to the change in Bailey's expression. She was so stunning, a woman of such beauty, grace and compassion. And she claimed to love him. He couldn't conceive such a thing, not yet, anyway.

He got a rude awakening when the bike tipped, Sam having lost her balance. He caught her in time, and once they'd steadied the unruly motorcycle, she looked at him with a sheepish expression before laughter won over.

* * *

Sam and Bailey were sitting on the steps of an ornate temple, waiting for the government agent to show. They'd already finished their take-out lunches, and they were content to enjoy the sunny day in silence. She was looking off to the side when he alerted her to Casper's arrival. They got up and walked towards the agent, Bailey fishing for something in his coat's inner pocket.

The two parties having reached one another, Sam watched on with amusement as the two men exchanged cigars before saying hello.

"Siglo limited."

"Ashton."

Bailey took in Casper's words. "Not contraband this time?"

"Luckily so, seeing as you brought a witness," he acknowledged her presence with a smile. "Doctor Waters, it's a pleasure to meet you again."

She took his outstretched hand, imploring him: "Please, call me Sam."

"If you insist, Sam," he acquiesced.

"I never had the chance to thank you for your help, so I wanted to come along and do so now."

"There is no need. Bailey and I are in the business of extending favours to one another, whenever the occasion arises. As I understand, one has arisen." They fell into a leisurely walk around the grounds.

"Yes. Do you have any intel whether or not someone might be pushing for the charges against Rachel Burke?"

Casper took a beat to think over the rumblings of the past week. "Not that I have heard. Why do you ask?"

"The charges lack any solid ground. They should have been thrown out already," Sam pointed out.

"My guess is that it's just the wheels of justice turning slowly in this case," Casper uttered. Neither FBI agent looked comforted by his opinion.

Concluding that the business side of the proceedings had ended, Casper changed the topic to a more personal tack. "I hear you're out of a job. I'm sorry about that. Any plans?" Casper witnessed the sharp turn of the head by the blonde, suggesting that she, too, was interested in Bailey's reply.

Bailey took a deep breath. "I don't know yet. I'll be at the task force until the last day, and then, we'll see."

Casper could feel the woman's disheartenment and opted to defuse the loaded situation amicably: "Whatever it is, I hope to see more of your beautiful friend." She took a second to acknowledge his compliment, but then her face took on a distracted look again. Casper took an educated guess as to the cause of tension between the pair.

* * *

Sam was packing up for the weekend, sorting out her files on Bailey's desk. He was in the command center, discussing cases with John and George. She grabbed her things and headed there to say her goodbyes for the two days. On her way, she ducked her head in Grace's lab, wishing the pathologist a good time with her son.

The men were finishing up as she arrived, and so she conveyed her goodbyes to John and George before falling into step with Bailey.

"Any plans for the weekend?"

Sam smiled: "Oh, tomorrow, we'll go riding, and on Sunday, we're going to a fair."

"That sounds nice. Give Chloe my love."

They'd reached his office, and they exchanged somewhat awkward goodbyes.

The thought that he would miss Sam hit him as soon as she turned away from him. He paused for a second, feeling the loss already. Then he heard Sam say "Hey, Malone." His eyes found her near the elevator. Mindful of the agents milling about, she mouthed "I love you" to him. He didn't say it back to her, but she could see his feelings on his face.

Sam pushed the elevator button, looking forward to her weekend with Chloe and happy to know that Bailey seemed to be coming around, having let his defences down so much over the course of three days. If she had known what lay in store upon her return the following Monday, she wouldn't have left at all.

_TBC..._

_(Ack! I can't believe it's been a month since I put up the first chapter. I have been working on this chapter ever since, but I am a slow writer. In addition, as happened with "Play Dead", this story started out as a trilogy but will now include five chapters. So three more chapters coming up! Hopefully soon. I will finish the story, so no worries on that account...)_


	3. Wrong Direction

(I own nothing. As of April 29, I have beaten this chapter into submssion, and thusly, it is complete! I hope you enjoy.)

**WRONG DIRECTION**

Left to his own devices, over the weekend Bailey did as long years of romantic disappointments had taught him to do: fell into the spiral of self-doubt.

Friday night passed by pleasantly enough – he arrived home late and therefore had little time to fret over his relationship with Sam. He did have a moment of clarity as he wandered into the guest bedroom to change the sheets. Sam's perfume lingered there, and he felt a sudden urge to call her on the spot. He sat down on the bed and gazed out of the window, preoccupied with his realisation. He had gotten used to Sam's company, and the realisation that he'd enjoyed her taking care of him jolted him greatly, even though said caring had manifested itself by the relatively minute tasks of her making sure he had something to eat at work or forcing him to relax in the evenings.

Passing some time at the task force on Saturday, even a workaholic as bad as himself had to concede that there was little he could accomplish on his own. No new information nor cases were trickling in, and he had no one to bounce ideas off of. Four hours of dead-end working later, he had to admit that his efforts to speed things along were futile.

He then faced the daunting task of having some downtime at home. Not quite knowing what to do, he popped by the bike shop where he'd ordered the missing parts for his Harley. If he could work on that, he'd feel less aimless and alone, though he didn't care to voice the latter description even to himself. Unfortunately he was out of luck, as he was informed that the necessary parts wouldn't arrive until the end of the next week.

Stepping out of the bike shop, he wondered what the heck people did on a Saturday off from work. He had little choice but to go home and find some household chore to occupy his time.

He decided on cleaning out his garage. During it, he had time to mull over the events of the week. He knew that a relationship with Sam might be in the offing; she had, after all, come back partly for him, and had made her wishes clear. All he would have to do was say yes.

So why hadn't he?

Part of the reason was that he feared the loss of their friendship in case the romantic involvement would hit the rocks. They had been friends since her training at Quantico, and somewhere along the line, as they got to know each other, they'd become best friends, a bond even years apart hadn't eradicated.

Another reason was his less than stellar romantic record. He'd once said to Sam that his run since Janet hadn't been great, and since that confession, things hadn't exactly improved. Three failed attempts with brunettes, each ending for a different reason, and a misguided effort to make a go of it with Janet again that had finished the way it had started – suddenly.

Janet still harboured resentment toward him over the way things had ended between them, despite his overtures to make amends. He and Janet hadn't been the only ones affected by the news of the new failure. Frances had taken the news about the break-up better than Arianna had. In truth, Frances had been, in the first place, more reserved about her parents' rekindled flame than her little sister. Nevertheless, their girls had been affected.

So, given the past, could he trust that things would be any different with Sam?

Why would he want to invite his best friend to join the train wreck that was his romantic life? He needed to protect her from such a fate. For all his good characteristics, his downfall was inevitably the feeling of inadequacy when it came to matters of the heart.

Things did not improve on Sunday, when Janet called him for a matter relating to Arianna. The phone call was tangible proof of his failures, and strengthened his resolve to not let things progress with Sam. For her own good.

And that was the mindset with which he greeted a returning Sam on Monday, much to her later bewilderment.

* * *

Sam breezed through the open elevator doors, humming to herself and eager to see Bailey again. She looked around the task force and noticed that most agents were holed up in the command center. She left her jacket and brief case in Bailey's office and headed to join the others. Bailey appeared to be giving a briefing or something else to his employees.

He was addressing the crowd, standing in front of the large main frame computer screen. She walked in and waited for him to notice her. He spotted her right away, glancing at her and allowing the briefest of smiles flit across his face. She beamed at him more openly, but he turned his gaze away quickly. The command center was packed, so she stayed beside the upper level table and tried to catch onto the topic of the meeting.

As it turned out, the topic was staff transfers. Who would be transferred, when and where. The agents who'd gotten the green light were happy in a subdued manner, and the ones who hadn't received word about their future jobs were decidedly morose. The meeting didn't serve to rally the spirits of its attendees or its leader.

The meeting adjourned, Bailey was accosted by many agents, several of them hoping to somehow impact their situation one way or another. He started assigning times when the agents could see him in his office, and he started to walk toward the office, in an effort to thin out the crowd following him. Agents were chattering to him from every side when he passed Sam, who'd remained by the table to greet him. He was able to disengage from the hopeful agents long enough to say to her: "Sam, can you spend today with John and George on Rachel's case? I've already put them on it." She nodded her approval and he continued on his way, surrounded by his employees. She watched as he walked away, his slight resignation and exasperation evident to someone as in-tune with his emotions as she was. It was going to be an exhausting day.

* * *

Sam sat by John's desk, on the lookout for a break in the tide of agents rushing to Bailey's office. She needed to get her brief case from there, and she wanted to talk to the man for a few minutes, say hi and try to brighten his day.

John noticed the blonde's distracted demeanour. They'd been discussing Rachel's case, John offering insight into the different crime scenes the task force had overseen relating to the case. Sam had also discreetly taken the chance to gather some information on Rachel's personality. She hadn't had the time to work side-by-side with the red-haired profiler, nor had she gotten to know Rachel aside from a few rudimentary details. Satisfied with the answers, Sam pondered the case whilst keeping an eye on the events in Bailey's office.

Finally, Agent Washington, who'd been conversing with Bailey, stood up from the arm chair. Sam shot out of her chair and advanced toward the office in a brisk walk. She smiled to Washington as they met one another at the doorway. Sam rapped gently on the door, announcing her entrance. "Hey. I just came to get my brief case. How's it going?"

He looked and sounded emotionally drained. "As well as can be expected, I guess."

She shot him a worried look. "How many more of these do you have planned?"

"Three," he sighed.

"Ouch," she commiserated with him. "Do you want me to bring you lunch? In an hour?"

He shook his head. "No thanks. I don't think I'll be hungry."

She looked nonplussed. "You have to eat something."

"I'll be fine. No one ever died from missing a lunch," he dismissed her objections. She didn't look convinced, but before she could counter his point, the next agent arrived at the door. "I'll catch you later," she said before excusing herself.

Bailey watched her go, feeling a little torn. He wondered when he would have the opportunity to tell Sam what he'd decided. Should he tell her as soon as possible? Or wait until she brought it up? What was the proper decorum in breaking your best friend's heart?

The agent had seated herself on the chair opposite his desk and looked at Bailey eagerly. He steeled himself for another go-around.

* * *

Sam was making for Bailey's office when she spied the man in the canteen, standing in line for the cash register. She adjusted her course and waited for him at the doorway, allowing her displeasure to show clear as day as she glimpsed what he'd bought for himself: only a coffee. "Is your plan to starve yourself to death?"

He pacified her: "I looked at the sandwiches and the salads. I just wasn't up to eating anything."

"You're not sick, are you?"

"No, I'm fine." He truly didn't have any appetite, the loss of which he attributed both to the day he'd had so far and the impending conversation with Sam he would have sooner or later.

Glancing behind her at the command center, she asked: "You got a few minutes? We wanted to tell you a few things about Rachel's case." He nodded and they started for the center, where John and George were waiting.

"How about I make you dinner tonight?" She neglected to ask if she could stay at his place another week, and for his part, Bailey didn't even notice the omission, however determined he was to put an end to any romantic progress between them.

"You don't have to."

"I want to," she insisted. "I promised to fix you dinner last week."

"If you're sure," he relented.

"Great! I'll stop by the grocery store on my way home." They finished their plans just as they reached the double doors of the command center.

* * *

Sam was cooking up a storm in the kitchen. She was preparing a risotto with goat's cheese and grapes, spicy chicken cutlets and a quick dessert in the form of sabayon. She flooded the risotto once more, then mixed the liquid into the rice evenly. She took a sip from her white wine, wandering over to the window to watch Bailey. He was decompressing in the back yard. His day had been agonizing, and she knew he needed some time to compose himself.

The man in question ambled around the lawn, smoking his cigar and trying to clear his mind of the stress of the day. He wasn't having much in the way of success. He wondered if his regrets over the fate of the task force were becoming entwined with the dread he felt about the situation with Sam. When should he spring it on her? Could he just walk in and announce "Is dinner ready yet? Oh, and by the way, I've decided to forgo any relationship with you. Do you want me to set the table?"

He puffed the last drags of his cigar and then stood in the middle of the yard, closing his eyes, listening to the sounds around him and praying for strength and wisdom. And that she would forgive him.

Finally, he heard the creak of the outer patio door. He turned around and saw Sam beckoning him inside. He started to trudge towards her. When he was closer, he noticed the concern in her eyes, and forced himself to perk up in demeanour. He already felt enough of a jerk; no need to add causing her worry to the list.

Once inside, the delicious smells of the dinner wafted to him, and he realised that he was starving. He hadn't eaten anything save for a measly sandwich for breakfast, an apple for lunch, which he'd chased down with countless cups of coffee. "Dinner smells amazing," he complimented.

"I bet anything smells delicious when you're hungry as a wolf," she remarked as they approached the table. Bailey, ever the gentleman, helped her to her seat and was rewarded with an appreciative smile. "You do know how to treat a lady, Malone."

"Just one of my many charms," he uttered with a grin.

"I'll say," she conceded with a flirtatious smile. She poured both of them some wine and they started eating. Bailey was ravenous, so they spent the first five minutes in silence, focused on enjoying the delectable cuisine. Once he started to feel that his most pressing hunger that been sated, they fell into a conversation.

"Feeling a little better?" she queried.

He nodded. "Much better. Thanks." He took a good look at her. She had changed into more comfortable clothes before she'd started the cooking. She was wearing faded jeans, a white tank top and a loose black cardigan. She looked beautiful. She caught his appreciative glance and blushed faintly. He looked sheepish at having been caught out, so she let it go and pressed on to the events of the day.

"I'm going to meet Rachel on Wednesday. Get her side of the events leading up to the arrest, see if she's thought of something new about the stalker." He nodded, digesting the news of the arrangement. "You wanna talk about your day? I can see that it took its toll on you," she prompted him.

He took a sip of his wine, mulling over what to tell her. He decided to be honest with her. She of all people would understand his feelings on the matter.

"It was hard. These past weeks have been hard. First fighting to keep the funding, then finding out that we lost it anyway." He paused for a while, then voiced his inner thoughts. "I'm so angry about it, really. And it's not just that it feels like they ignored all the work the task force has done, how much it accomplished and could have still accomplished. It's that everyone is now out of a job, and I couldn't prevent it from happening."

His last words surprised her. "You hold yourself responsible?"

"Aren't I?" He looked at her pointedly.

She hastened to dispute his wrong notions. "No, honey, you're not. You did all you could, and no one thinks otherwise. All your employees look up to you. You're a great boss." She paused to evaluate if anything she was saying was getting through to him. To her relief, he appeared to be accepting her praise. "It's just that... You can't fight city hall. Besides, you've never had much patience for politics."

She was right. He'd always detested the political side of being the leader of the task force. It was an imposition that had been thrust upon him since the founding of the force. He believed that nothing should get in the way of allowing justice to prevail.

A funny memory from their days of working together came to her. "You know I'm right about that one. Remember the time you unloaded some choice words on the assistant regional chief in Nebraska over his intrusion into the case?"

"As I recall, you were just as pissed off as I was. I could see it. You just hid it better. In essence, I was venting for the both of us!" he defended his actions with a chuckle. "Come on, admit it, it made you feel better, too."

She smiled a wry smile. She had to concede his point. Over the past eight years, she'd learned to withdraw into herself at times, to internalise some emotions. Both of them reacted to some unjust event with the same outrage, and his willingness to express his feelings had helped her, too. It had provided her with an outlet. Now, she was working on externalising her feelings herself.

She'd finished the main course before he had, and she ventured a glance at the clock. Chloe would be home from her soccer practice. She excused herself from his company: "Excuse me, I need to call Chloe before she starts her homework for the evening."

"Give her my love. I'll finish eating and brew some coffee for the dessert." She got up and headed to her room, leaving him to his business. She'd given him a chance to vent his feelings about the task force, and while one would think that it would ease his burden, his dread about the other important matter soon started looming, more daunting than ever.

Sighing, he started clearing the table. He would have to bite the bullet sooner or later. He began steeling himself to tell her as soon as they'd eaten. He tried to think of ways of introducing the topic into the conversation. He'd envisioned and rejected a few alternatives when Sam came back to the table. They talked about their weekends, with him keeping the discussion focussed on Sam and Chloe. He only gave her superficial details of his time alone, trying to evade his decision. As the topics of conversation ran out, he felt that the moment had come. He should tell her right then and there.

But when he looked at her, his steely resolve fizzled. She looked so earnest, so affectionate and trusting. He just couldn't bring up the matter, couldn't bring himself to shatter her heart so soon.

Just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of despicable actions.

So he started telling her of his trip down to the bike repair shop.

* * *

The next morning, Sam strode in through the doors to Grace's lab, greeting her friend. "Hey Grace, did Bailey tell you that he wanted us to go through the cases connected to Rachel's stalker?"

Grace was sitting off to the side of the room. She pointed to the case files in front of her. "Would that escape the notice of our fearless leader? I'm reviewing them right now." She shot a speculative look at Sam. "Speaking of... Before we get started, I think it's high time for you to tell me some dish! How have things progressed?"

Sam looked somewhat baffled. "With the case?"

"No, between you and Bailey," Grace corrected quickly.

Understanding dawned for Sam. "Oh..."

"Yeah..." Grace responded, not missing a beat.

"Well..." Sam hedged, unsure as to what to tell her friend. She did feel that things had progressed, but it was more subtle moods than concrete actions.

"So I take it you haven't knocked the gun-shyness out of him yet?" Grace looked a tad disappointed.

Sam had to smile a bit. Grace appeared to be living vicariously through her and Bailey. "Like I already said, I don't want to pressure him. I just feel like we should take our time. What with the running down of the task force and everything."

"Uh huh..." Grace didn't sound particularly convinced.

"And as much as I hate to admit this, I sorta want to be the girl," Sam added, blushing.

"A girl in the twenty-first century, I should hope," Grace pointed out.

Sam shot her a peeved look, then relented. "Fine. I'll ask him tonight. Happy now?" Grace clapped her hands. "Let's get started." The pathologist turned obediently to the case files. A tiny smile flitted across Sam's face. While she'd discussed her feelings for Bailey with Angel a few times and the artist had reacted to the news well, if with surprise, Grace's unabashed cheering was truly a nice reaction.

* * *

Bailey and Sam were sitting in the living room, sipping their late-night coffees. Mindful of the promise she'd made Grace, Sam had been distracted most of the night, trying to summon the nerve to discuss her relationship with Bailey. She was fidgeting a little, and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the talk that had the potential to dictate their future happiness.

"So, you've now had a week to think things over, since my initial confession. How are you feeling? What do you want to do... about us?"

He'd known the question was coming. He'd noticed Sam's subtle agitation, and had deduced that she wanted some answers. He saw no way out of this, and his heart broke for her. "Sam... I don't think we should start a relationship. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

His apology hardly registered in her mind, for his words preceding it caused first a skipped heartbeat and then a deafening surge of heartbeats. Sam felt suddenly cold. She had to put some thought into forming coherent words, let alone sentences. "You don't want to be with me?"

"I do, but it wouldn't work out in the end anyway," he pacified her doubts.

His concession overjoyed her all too briefly. She was confused by his words. "Why wouldn't it work out?"

"Trust me, it just wouldn't," he muttered matter-of-factly.

She stared at him, at a loss for words because of his resolute tone. She was being told, in not so many words, that the case was closed and she should come to her senses. "Sorry, you're with stupid now. I'm gonna need more of an explanation on this."

"Sam..."

"No, this is too important," she snapped. He sank into the sofa cushions, looking forlorn. He had to admit her insistence wasn't out of line. He knew he'd shattered her hopes in one fell swoop.

As the moments passed and he offered no explanation, she started prodding him: "What, you don't think we're compatible? Or that we'd get sick of one another? Or that we wouldn't be happy?"

"Look, it's difficult to explain." Her agitated look signalled to him that he should try to make the effort.

"I feel like everything I had to give, gave out a long time ago. Consider my track record. My marriage ended seven years ago, and it's been even longer that I've been able to stay in a functional relationship. You're my best friend and I won't allow you to join that wreckage. I don't want to hurt you."

She took a moment to consider what he'd shared. "Well, like it or not, you're hurting when you don't allow me to have a say in this matter. As for your not having anything to give any more, you're selling yourself short. Why are you determined to let failed relationships destroy a future one?"

He released a bitter chuckle. "My chequered past is a clear indication of things to come."

"I don't believe that and neither should you. I have a pretty clear idea of what I'd be getting myself into. You're my best friend, I've known you for more than fifteen years. I know you and I love you for it. Tell me, how is that something I could just walk away from?"

"You're gonna have to," he insisted gruffly.

"But why?"

"I already told you," he snapped with frustration in his voice as he stood up and made to walk to the kitchen.

She jumped up to stand in front of him. "You really didn't. I at least expect to get a proper reason. I'm sorry, but I won't let you sabotage our burgeoning relationship by not starting it at all," she finished with a searing look.

He didn't back down at all. "I've made my decision, Sam. I'm sorry it wasn't to your liking, but there it is," he sighed.

They stared at each other. She was brimming with incredulity and hurt, he was riding the wave of defensiveness and resolve. Looking at his resolute face, she realised that he wouldn't budge on his stance. Suddenly, she had to get away from his soul-crushing adamance. She turned around and strode into the back yard, advancing on the lawn until the bush fence stopped her progress. She gazed at it, really seeing nothing. She guessed she was still processing the events of the last five minutes.

She thought over what he'd shared with her. He'd chosen to renege on the offered relationship because of his past shortcomings, or so he claimed. Did he really believe that himself? If he did, she feared she'd have a hell of fight on her hands in trying to convince him otherwise.

Examining her hopes ever since her abrupt confession a week ago, she realised that in all the scenarios she'd entertained, she'd never believed that he would forgo the relationship altogether. The worst she'd foreseen was that Bailey would take his time in deciding what to do, leaving the relationship on the back burner for weeks, maybe a few months.

Never had she really believed that he would deny them a chance to be happy together. Maybe she'd just been fooling herself.

A stray tear streaked down her cheek, and she brushed it away. She glanced back at the house. The light in Bailey's room was on.

He watched her stride away from him, trying to contain her hurt. He gazed after her, and followed her dejected form as she reached the fence, then stopped. She stood there for a long time. His heart ached for her. He was amazed he hadn't cracked under the pain of causing her grief and hadn't just agreed to anything she asked of him.

Tearing his eyes away from her, he walked to the corner and poured himself a stiff drink. He downed it in one go. The amber liquid burned like hell, but did nothing to soothe the recriminations. He walked over to the patio door, wondering if he should go to her. The urge to comfort her was very compelling, but he stamped it down. There wasn't anything he could do for her, short of recanting his words.

He went to his room, flicked on the light and plopped down on the bed, stared at the ceiling. It was done and it was done for the best. He just wished it didn't hurt like hell.

* * *

Grace, John and George could tell that something distressing was afoot between their boss and the former team profiler. Gone was the relaxed feeling between the two, and a torrent of angst was coursing in its stead. Grace was on the lookout for a chance to have a private heart-to-heart with her friend, but Sam spent most of the early day in the command center, and then the rest of the day with Rachel. Grace worried for the blonde, but knew that Sam would talk to her if she needed to. For the time being, she was content to wait for a request for a friendly ear. She also kept mum as to the cause of the unease. She couldn't know for sure, but she made an educated guess and landed not so far from the truth.

Sam was finding it difficult to focus on the case. She and Bailey hadn't spoken a word to one another for the rest of the evening after she'd stomped off, and they'd exchanged only the utmost necessary courtesies that morning. She was still reeling from his decision, attempting to get her head around it. She wondered what she would do now. Respect his wishes and give up on them? Or just flatly deny and overrule his decision, force to him to reconsider?

Bailey was having a bad day at it, too. His worry for Sam threatened to overshadow any other pressing matter he needed to tend to. He wondered if he had the heart to withstand seeing her suffer this badly. He might end up giving in, no matter how ill-advised that would be in his opinion.

* * *

Sam took a look at the red-haired profiler. Rachel seemed happy to be home as she awaited for the word on the internal investigation. Sam had been rattled when she'd stepped into the apartment. The haunted look that had passed on Rachel's face when she surveyed the shadows of the hall had unnerved Sam. She knew that her own features had portrayed that same inner anguish to a keen observer for years. To someone like Bailey.

Sighing, she gathered her thoughts again. Sam gently guided the conversation, speaking of her own insights and checking with Rachel details she hadn't been able to ascertain from anyone else. At the end of three hours, Sam felt compelled to approach the topic of Rachel's coping under the intrusion of a madman into her life.

"I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds... But from one stalking victim to another... How are you doing? Really?" She watched as the younger profiler composed herself, trying to find words to express her inner agitation.

"Uh... I guess I feel like I'm being suffocated, little by little, each day. It's a scary feeling."

Sam thought back to her own years of torment. "I know. You just have to believe that you'll come out on the other side."

Rachel looked at her, regarding her with interest. "Did you always believe that yourself?"

She considered the question. "There were moments when I doubted that. But I lucked out. I had people who were willing to lighten my burden when it got unbearable. Helping me to hold on."

"People like Bailey, you mean?" The redhead fixed her an assessing stare.

Normally, a small smile would have graced Sam's features when she thought of the man and how he'd helped her through. Today, the memories only served to cause a pang in her heart and to form a wistful look on her face. "Yes, people like Bailey. He knows what I went through, he saw how it changed me. I hope you have someone like that in your life."

Rachel smiled ruefully. "I don't know yet. Can I borrow Bailey?" she chuckled.

Sam smiled. "Why are you asking me? You need to ask him."

The younger woman looked quizzical. "Oh. I just assumed..."

"You assumed what?" she queried.

"That you two were together already." Sam drew a breath, clearly thrown. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be meddling. Whatever is between you two is none of my concern." Sam offered a feeble smile, then remained silent. Rachel watched the blonde and thought of the long months she'd witnessed Bailey longing for the woman.

"To hell with it, I'm already involved. You do know that he loves you, right?" Rachel's question threw Sam for a loop. She wondered when the new profiler had learned that.

"Yes, and I love him back. Look, things between Bailey and me are muddled for many reasons. I'd rather not get into it," Sam finished with a resolute voice and began to gather her notes. As beholden as she was to the current team profiler for helping to save her life, she wasn't about to open up to anyone about her personal relationship with Bailey.

Rachel threw up her arms in a conciliatory gesture. "As long as you know, my work here is done."

Sam nodded at the redhead. She promised to keep the younger woman appraised of any developments in the case. The women parted amicably.

* * *

Sam came away from her conversation with Rachel with a renewed sense of purpose. The meeting had confronted her with demons of the past, but she'd also remembered how far both she and Bailey had come, how hard they'd had to fight in order to be the ones standing when the final bell rang.

She wasn't about to let Bailey turn tail and run. Not without a fight.

She arrived at his place earlier than he did. She puttered around for a while, all the while re-evaluating her ideas about Rachel's case. She hoped they'd hear soon that the charges would be dropped. That would be one less thing to trouble the current team profiler, and would lighten the atmosphere around the task force.

She considered calling Bailey to find out when he'd come home, but decided to against it. She had to get through to him that evening, and she wanted to concentrate on pondering Bailey's reasons to not pursue anything between them.

Bailey arrived home to find Sam sitting on the arm chair in silence with a far-off look on her face. She trained her eyes on him and she noticed at once how harrowed he looked. Her features softened. "Hey."

"Hey," he replied, sounding decidedly tired. He closed the door behind him, took off his coat and threw it on the back of the sofa. He sat down and took a deep breath.

"How was your day?"

He regarded her with a sober look, then replied truthfully. "Not so great. How about you?"

"I guess the word would be muddled. I talked to Rachel for three hours," she added, steering the conversation into safer waters for the time being.

"Was she able to help you?"

She nodded. "I think I have a firmer grasp on her situation. I didn't really get to know her last year, so seeing her apartment and spending some time with her helped me with the profile."

"Good."

"Bailey... At the end of our meeting, she inferred, or rather, stated bluntly that she knows you love me. Care to tell me how?" While she hadn't wanted to dive into the particulars of the when and how with Rachel herself, that didn't mean her curiosity wouldn't demand to be sated.

He looked taken aback. "How did that come up?"

She shrugged. "I mentioned how you were there for me all through my ordeal, and she wanted to know if she could borrow you. One thing led to another. How about an answer to my question?"

"She... pointed out to me that I was in love with you while you were in captivity," he uttered, looking at his hands.

She hadn't expected that. "I see."

Fearing that the beginning conversation would center on the topic of 'them', he quickly decided to try and dodge the bullet. "If you don't mind, I was thinking of going to the gym," he said without much preamble, standing up and beginning to head to his room.

"Wait. Just let me say something, okay?" Her pleading tone stopped him in his tracks, and at her quiet stare, he walked back to the couch and sat down.

"My afternoon crystallized one thing for me. Those hours with Rachel got me thinking about Newquay again, his influence on us both. It's a miracle we survived and lived to tell the tale. It's a damn miracle you didn't die and he didn't kill me." Sam paused to give weight to the final words she needed to voice. "You're crazy if you think I'm just going to walk away from us, after everything we went through together."

He sighed loudly, rubbing his face in frustration. "Sam, I'm not saying we can't be friends. I just don't want to enter into a romantic relationship with you."

She looked incredulous. "How could that not hurt us both in the long run? Being so close to something we both want, and yet, being forced to contend with the next best thing?" she challenged.

"Do you really want to wait until I prove you wrong? You'd rather be in a relationship that's almost guaranteed to crash and burn?" he shot back.

She considered his words. "Oh, so because your past involvements didn't pan out, our relationship wouldn't either? I think you're dead wrong about that one in my books. I happen to think we'd be amazing together. I wish you could see it, too. I wish you could bring yourself to believe in us."

"Let me guess – I could change it all around if I would just say yes."

She shot him an irritated look. "Yes, but don't get so glib with me. I'd prefer to keep this a serious conversation."

He seated himself on the edge of the sofa. "I don't want to have this conversation. Sam, I don't have anything new to add. I don't know what else to say. We'd just be going around and around on the same old circuit."

"You haven't told me what happened over the weekend that convinced you that you need to protect me from you." At his quizzical look, she continued: "Come on, something definitely happened. You've withdrawn into your shell again."

"I just had some time to take a look back at my track record," he said in a flat voice.

She realised that he was being cagey for a good reason. "And nothing else? You just reminisced? You didn't whip out old mementoes? Didn't call anyone?" Her last guess hit home too close for comfort, and his worry showed on his face, revealing to Sam that she was on the right track.

"Bailey, come on. Tell me the truth," she pleaded.

He heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine. Janet called me. It wasn't exactly a friendly call. But by that time, I'd already made my decision."

Sam's expression darkened when he mentioned his ex-wife's name. She'd been wary of the woman's return into Bailey's life. She'd gleaned from reading between the lines that after their divorce, the woman had maligned him to his daughters – something Sam herself could never condone or forget. Speaking ill of him as well as cheating on him was behaviour so foreign to Sam herself that she couldn't stop herself from disliking Janet.

She'd kept quiet on the subject, however. Apart from the talk they'd had in the jewellery store. That was the one time she'd let her irritation bubble to the surface. She'd been so thrown by the motive of the visit that her feelings had gotten the better of her.

And now, Janet had reinforced his memories of romantic failures. It occurred to Sam that she didn't really know how things had ended between Bailey and Janet a year ago. She guessed acrimoniously. Maybe that was at the heart of why he'd been so affected by the phone call?

"May I ask how things are between you and Janet?"

Her question surprised him. He'd noticed her react to his mention of Janet. He hesitated, then hedged: "Why do you want to know?"

"Because her call seems to have affected you more than I would normally anticipate."

"Fine. We didn't part amicably a year ago. I was totally focussed on finding you and she drew her own conclusions."

"And that was the end for you two?"

She watched as he nodded. No wonder the ex-wife still had an axe to grind. Her rekindled romance with her former husband had gone sour because he was in love with his co-worker. "I guess you've been trying to make amends ever since."

"At this point, I'd say that making amends is out of the realm of possibility. There's nothing to be done," he sighed.

"Look, I can understand that you're afraid that we'd end up the same way, on the outs and barely speaking to one another. You've just had some concrete reminders of that possible outcome," she finished, acknowledging his fears.

"But I believe we'd be different. I just wish you could see it, too." To her disappointment, he appeared unconvinced.

Sam blew out a breath, stared at him. They were still heading in the wrong direction. Bailey had withdrawn into his shell once more; truth be told, he'd probably been closed off since Monday. His own fears were still dictating his actions, and she realised that there was little more that she could do on his behalf. The rest was up to him.

For his part, Bailey couldn't bring himself to consider her words fully. He kept taciturn, his thoughts skirting over the surface of their discussion. He never allowed them to dwell on a particular point. He watched as Sam, looking defeated and forlorn, stood up and trudged to the guest room.

* * *

Neither Sam nor Bailey slept well that night.

Sam tossed and turned all night, too agitated by her own dread to lay peacefully, let alone fall into a calm slumber. His decision wouldn't allow her a moment's rest. She wondered what she could do now. She'd tried reasoning with him, challenging his reasons, alleviating his doubts. Nothing had worked. She got up tired and bleary-eyed, took the coldest shower she could withstand to wake herself up and got dressed, lost in thought.

She walked to the kitchen to find Bailey there, staring at two plates which had sandwiches on them. He'd prepared breakfast for them, but now faced with the situation of actually having to eat said food, he found that he'd misplaced his appetite. He pushed his plate further away on the kitchen island, then took in Sam's presence. Gesturing to the sandwiches, he uttered: "Eat them if you want to." She seated herself at the kitchen island and started to nibble on the food. He poured coffee for both of them, but didn't have time to sit down, as the land line phone started ringing. They shared a surprised look at the hour of the call, then he went to answer it.

"Malone."

"Hi Daddy, it's Frannie."

"Hi sweetie, is everything alright? Why are you calling me at this hour?"

"Well, I wanted to catch you before you went off to work, and I didn't call last night because I guessed you might be at the gym. This isn't a bad time, is it?"

"No, no. What's on your mind?"

"I should let you know that I've reserved plane tickets to Atlanta for the weekend after this one. I'll be flying in on next Friday and I'll fly back on the following Monday."

"Why are you coming over here?"

"Well, I want to see you, and somebody has to come over and make sure you're managing on your own."

"The last time I checked, I was the parent and you the kid, not the other way around."

"Just humor me this once, okay? You're not busy that weekend, are you?"

"No, it'll just be me and... It'll just be me." In the nick of time, he stopped himself from saying "me and Sam". He decided to store that near slip of the tongue in the "never think about it" file.

Frannie had caught his momentary lapse, but gracefully chose to ignore it for the time being. She'd have a much better chance of ferreting the truth out of him face to face. "Great! It's one of those late flights. I'll call you later with the details. I guess you need to be heading to work."

"I think you're right. Frannie... Thank you. I couldn't think of a better way to spend a weekend. Talk to you soon."

As Sam listened to his side of the call, she made a valiant effort to eat her sandwiches, but her appetite, too, was lacking. She gleaned that the caller was Frannie and that she'd be coming to visit him soon. Sam watched as Bailey came to retrieve the coffee cup he'd placed on the island.

"When's Frances coming over?" she asked.

"Next weekend," he answered, took a sip of his coffee and grimaced a little at how much it had already cooled.

"You'll have a great time together. Working together on your bike, I bet," she added with a smile on her face.

He walked to the sink, poured his cool coffee down the drain and refreshed his cup. "Maybe. You don't think she's too old for that?"

She shook her head. "No. Cynthia, Angel's mom, kept us baking with her right up until her death. I plan on doing stuff with Chloe all through her teen years and into her twenties, if she'll let me."

He noticed the half eaten sandwich. "No appetite?" She shook her head, then remarked: "We do make quite a pair," noting his lack of appetite, too. They were both too sensitive and aware of their current predicament to miss the unspoken implication of her words. She couldn't resist the urge to drive home her point. "We could be a better one."

He shot her a slightly exasperated look. "Have you not listened to my reasons for declining?"

"I've heard them. It's just that... You're condemning the future to death so it can match the past."

"Sam..."

Even his reproachful tone wouldn't deter her from making her point. "No, Bail. Isn't that what you're effectively doing?" She looked at her wrist watch. If they didn't leave right away, they'd be late for a conference call with the assistant director of the Bureau. "Never mind. We should get going."

* * *

John ambled into Bailey's office to find his boss on the phone. Bailey held up his finger, signalling that the younger man shouldn't leave. John sat down on the arm chair, gazing at Sam and George who were working together inside the command center. He'd had enough of the unease between Bailey and Sam, and he wanted to see if he could help.

Bailey wrapped up his call quickly, looking relieved. "That was Peter Koslowsky, US attorney. According to him, the charges against Rachel will be dropped tomorrow."

John's high-wire presence deflated visibly. "That's great. She'll be so relieved."

Bailey looked pleased himself. "Yeah. Did you want something?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. So, what's the deal with you and Sam?" John asked breezily. Bailey's head shot up, surprised at the question. John was quick to voice the rationale for his enquiry. "Sorry. I figure this is one of my last chances to butt in, so I'm taking it."

Bailey's eye brows shot up high. "What do you mean, what's the deal with us?"

John shot his boss a nonplussed look. "Come on. It doesn't take a scientist to know you two love each other. So what's going on?"

Bailey gazed at his friend, wondering how much to share. "Yes, we love each other. But, love does not always equal a relationship."

John looked puzzled. "Are you telling me that you aren't going to have a relationship? That you'll just love each other from afar? Why on earth would you do that?"

"I love Sam too much to allow her to join my long list of failures."

"That's your reason?" Bailey nodded his head, staying silent.

John thought over what he'd just heard, and as he did so, he found himself becoming quite angry. His friend seemed to have no awareness of the fact that fate was fickle and your life could fall apart any given moment. "Okay, then tell me the answer to this question: would you still think like that if she were killed tomorrow in a robbery?" he challenged Bailey.

He watched Bailey's face depict a rush of real torment. "That despair right there, that's your answer. Take it from a guy who knows." The moment of remembrance hung heavy for a moment before John forced himself to snap out of it. He stood up, and before walking out of the office, he uttered: "Or you could just continue to fritter away the chance for both of you to be happy."

* * *

Sam followed Bailey to his office, close on his heels. He'd just held a staff meeting in the command center. The topic of the meeting was the dismissal of charges against Rachel. The agents had applauded and whooped at the news. The good vibe, however, was marred by the second piece of news Bailey had had to deliver: next week's Friday would be the task force's last day. By then, all the cases should be appointed to new agents and all the staff transfers should be finalised. The mood darkened until John had playfully shouted: "Party will start at seven here in this building, and the after party will be at Bailey's!" Bailey had conceded to a party in the task force premises, but he vehemently denied any plans to host the after party. After that he'd disbanded the meeting.

He was already sitting at his desk when Sam knocked on the door and entered. "Hey, you got a minute?" He nodded.

"I was thinking that I could just as well work from home from now on. I mean, we've assigned the open cases to individual profilers, and now that Rachel's situation has abated a little, I could chip in from home. What do you think?" She was loath to ask him, for it meant that the distance between them would now become a concrete one, but she also felt she couldn't, in good conscience, spend more time away from Chloe, nor did she really want to.

He had to concede that her suggestion made sense. There wasn't much she could accomplish any more, not until Rachel's stalker resurfaced again. "I think you're right."

"So... I won't come to Atlanta next week, then." He nodded mutely. She gazed at him, waiting for some kind of response, a sign that he'd come to miss her in her absence. Unbeknownst to her, he was wrestling with his own inner thoughts.

He was still aching from a mere moment of imagining the loss of Sam; an emotion that hadn't left him in peace since it had descended upon him. In short, he'd had a change of heart. Maybe he shouldn't have dismissed a relationship so readily.

"Sam, about us..." his voice wavered a bit. He straightened his vest, a sign of his inner turmoil.

"Don't you think it'd just be a crazy idea?" She looked at him. 'It' being them, was his meaning. Still, she had an inkling that his determination was softening.

"No, Bail, I don't. Do you wonder what we could be if you'd only let me in?" she replied in a soft voice.

He didn't respond, and she jumped in to alleviate his doubts. "Look, all I'm asking for is for you to push your doubts aside and just... let me in. Everything else will sort itself out. I promise."

He looked her in the eyes, wanting to make himself clear on the matter. "I'm not saying no and I'm not saying yes. But... Can I think about this some more?"

She was relieved, and beamed at him. "As long as you come to me with your doubts if you have any. Don't hold it all inside. You can always talk to me."

He, too, had visibly relaxed. "Deal. I'll try to not let the past cloud my judgement."

They took a moment to bask in the happy moment. Then, Sam's curiosity won out. "Not to rock the boat, but may I ask what made you change your mind?"

Bailey's thoughts flew to his earlier encounter with John. "John is a very insightful guy these days," he offered in a way of explanation.

Sam wondered if she'd heard him correctly. "John?" He nodded, and she turned to look at the man in question, who was sitting at his desk. She gazed at him for a moment, then looked back at Bailey. A funny expression crossed her face, and Bailey watched on as she excused herself hastily from his presence and strode out of his office.

His eyes followed her as she approached John and called out to him. He swerved around in his chair to greet her, but before he could do anything she'd already bestowed him a small peck and a fierce hug. Before long Sam withdrew from him, graced him with an affectionate look, said something short and then headed back to Bailey's office, leaving John looking utterly dumbfounded.

Despite his friendship with the man, Bailey had slightly tensed when he witnessed Sam's gesture of affection upon John, especially the kissing part, however brief it had been. Sam breezed back into his office.

"What was that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

"I felt an overwhelming compulsion to thank John," she answered, wondering a bit at the look on his face.

He cleared his voice. "And that required you to hug him and..."

Sam caught on to the root cause of his sour expression. "Kiss him?"

"Yes."

She felt delighted in a funny way. "Oh honey, I'd kiss you blind right now but there are people around and it's unprofessional. Leave, people!" She shouted out the last sentence in a very loud voice, sparking curious glances from the agents milling around the task force. Bailey let out a guffaw. She gazed at the space outside his office, appearing to wait to see if people would comply. Seeing the non-existent reaction, she looked positively displeased.

"Damn. I guess we'll have to take a rain check, huh?" she remarked with a sultry look. She let her eyes linger his lips for a while before pulling herself together. An idea formed in her head.

"Now that that's over with, I'd like to ask you something. What are your plans for the weekend?"

_TBC..._


	4. Make a Connection

(I own nothing. A thank you to StillProfiling and ChavaAyanna for reviewing this story! One more chapter to go after this one.)

**MAKE A CONNECTION**

Bailey leaned his head on the headrest and gazed at the passing scenery, not focusing on anything, but instead, thinking of the weekend ahead. Sam had convinced him to spend the weekend at her place with her and Chloe. "I'm not leaving you alone again," is what she'd said, with a twinkle in her eye. He'd taken only a little persuading, because the truth of the matter was, he didn't want to spend the weekend alone, especially now that he'd decided to keep an open mind. Staying at home might have him second-guessing himself again.

And so he was sitting in the passenger's seat, with Sam driving them to her home in her car. She would drive him home to Atlanta on Sunday. Sam and Chloe were living twenty miles north of Angel's family farm. He'd wondered to her why they hadn't moved to Virginia, closer to Chloe's grandparents and their earlier home. She'd answered that because of the somewhat contentious relationship she had with Tom's parents, she hadn't wanted to relocate them there for the fractious period during which she and her daughter were rebuilding their bond. He wondered if the bond had been repaired.

He hazarded a look at Sam, wondering if she'd welcome his enquiry. "How are things between you and Chloe? Really?"

She averted her eyes off the road, looking surprised. "Why do you ask?"

He searched her face. "I know I asked before, but I just wanted to ask again. Make sure that you didn't leave anything out."

She smiled to herself. The first time he asked, she'd had to fight the inclination to sugarcoat the truth about the length of time it'd taken for her and Chloe to regain their closeness. In the end, she'd opted for the truth. She soothed his concerns. "I didn't shelter you from the truth, but I have to admit, I was tempted for a while. It was tough for a long time, but we're in the clear now. Otherwise, she wouldn't have let me come back to the VCTF."

She gave him a sideways glance. "That satisfy your need to know?" He nodded, then turned again to look at the side of the road. They drove on in contented silence.

* * *

Sam and Chloe's home was situated in a sparsely populated neighborhood. Passing a big out building on the way, they pulled up to a secluded house at the end of a long driveway. Verdant trees surrounded the house, and a few metal works of art by Angel adorned the lawn stretching out to the left of the house. The two-storey house itself was a handsome prospect of grey brick, black roof and white windows.

Sam killed the ignition and they got out of the vehicle, grabbed their bags and headed for the front door. As they entered the house, Sam shouted out: "Hello! We're home!" They could hear running foot steps above them, and in a moment Chloe emerged at the top of the stairs, then quick-stepped them down. "Hi Mom, hi Uncle Bailey!" The excited girl jumped to Bailey's neck for a hug. "It's so great that you came for a visit."

Touched by Chloe's enthusiasm, Bailey croaked out: "It's good to see you, sweetheart."

He set her on the ground. The girl started speaking quickly. "We're going to have so much fun this weekend. We'll go to the stables and the fair and we could also..." Sam cut off her baby girl's rambling.

"Sweetie, let Uncle Bailey catch his breath. Why don't you go get Angel?"

Chloe agreed and dashed off outside. At his confused look, Sam explained: "She's working in the out building. It doubles as a garage and a studio."

Bailey gazed after the jogging girl. "She's grown so much. I mean, I knew she would, but still." He suddenly felt a slight twinge of loss; he'd missed out on a year of Chloe's childhood. Much like with his own girls. But there, he'd missed many years – one of his greatest regrets.

Sam guessed his train of thought. She mourned for his sake and felt ashamed of her own actions, which had prevented him from participating in her daughter's life. "She's missed you." He smiled at her, to thank her for her words.

They would get into this issue, but not now. "Come on, let me show you the house."

The sunny kitchen was situated to the left of the stairs, with windows looking to the front of the house. From the kitchen there was an open space leading to the living room and the patio. Right to the living room, there was a den and a spare bedroom with a small en suite bathroom, hidden beneath the stairs. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms and a big bathroom.

The décor was bright, with lots of reds to offset the light grey walls. Wall space was taken up by photography, most of it pictures Sam had taken herself. Black and white photos of landscapes, architectural details and, to his surprise, people. She'd hung up portraits of the usual suspects, that is, of Chloe, Angel, Tom and her mother, but also of himself. It was a photo taken at the task force, in his office. He was sitting down and staring to the side, deep in thought, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened.

"I took it soon after you came back to work," she answered his silent question.

She led him through the hall to the patio. The back yard was big, and out on the lawn there was a set of garden furniture, many flower beds and even a small pond. His eyes happened upon a curious object to the left. "You have a hammock," he chortled.

"Angel was as good as her word. It's quite nice, actually," she conceded. They could hear Chloe calling out to them in the house, so they returned inside. The girl had retrieved Angel from her artistic pursuits. The artist greeted Sam and bestowed a hug on Bailey. "It's good to see you again." Sam wondered a little at her best friend's warm welcome and made up her mind to ask about it.

"You, too. How have you been?" he asked politely.

"Very good, and you?"

"Well enough, I guess." Chloe interrupted the catching up to drag Bailey upstairs to her room. Once the pair was out of ear shot, Sam looked at Angel pointedly.

"What?" the artist enquired.

Sam peered at her. "You were awfully nice to him, is all."

"Come on, you know that I've liked him for a long time. He's gonna be in your life, and I have no problem with that."

"So I have your blessing?" Sam asked hesitantly. As her best friend, Angel's opinion mattered to her, and Sam hadn't addressed the issue this head-on before.

The woman stopped just short of rolling her eyes. "Of course you do. And look at you, being all prim and proper!" she joked. "I hope you don't expect me to act as your chaperone. I'm out of here after dinner."

Angel stood her ground despite Sam's efforts at dissuading her. "I've learned that three is a crowd. Three adults, at least," she amended her statement. "I wouldn't want to stand in the way of you two having fun," she said, waggling her eyebrows. She cackled as Sam blushed furiously.

* * *

After they'd eaten dinner and Angel had departed, they settled down in the living room to play a few rounds on a board game. Chloe was the most experienced player, winning consistently and leaving the adults to duke it out for the undistinguished glory of being called the loser. As it happened, it was Sam on both times. Far from a sore loser, she accepted her losses graciously, in her own mind chalking up her losing streak to being distracted by the company of the two most important people in her life.

Just as the last game was winding down, Chloe asked for permission to go and surf the web ten minutes earlier than her usual time. Her mother agreed and the girl made for the den, leaving the adults alone. They cleared away the game and stashed it on top of the bookshelf.

"I'll be right back." Sam made her way up the stairs and, from the sounds of it, to her bedroom. She descended the stairs not a minute later, holding something in her hands. She offered the item to him and, with a smile, she remarked: "Happy belated birthday." While he stared at his gift, touched that she'd bought something for him, she sat down beside him. "Well, open it!"

He did as she told him, to find a well-worn book of poetry. "George Herbert?"

She jumped in to explain her choice. "He's a contemporary of Donne, and I heard Herbert's poetry is in the same vein as Donne's. Have you read anything by him?"

He was admiring the book in his hands. "Not yet. How did you know I enjoy Donne's works? I don't recall having mentioned it to you," he said out loud his remembrances.

She looked satisfied with herself. "You'd be amazed by the things I know about you. Plus, I alphabetized your books. That ring any bells?" she queried with a smile dancing on her features.

"I guess I was too traumatized by the invasion of my privacy," he shot back.

She pretended to be affronted. "What you describe as an invasion I call a necessary imposition." They stared at one another for a moment, both struggling to keep a straight face. She was the first one to yield. "How about we call this a truce and you thank me for the gift?"

"Fine. Thank you." He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. As he withdrew from her, he stalled for a fleeting second, an iota of time where a true kiss could happen and they both sensed it. Then, he continued his motion backward, having made his decision for the time being. To move from expressing love in words to expressing said feeling in actions requires a jump that has surprisingly little to do with the physical and everything to do with the psychological; and as much as they loved one another, the moment hadn't arrived yet. Actions hadn't caught up with emotions.

Sam shot him a tender smile, an act he reciprocated. They spent a few moments in a comfortable silence. Sam's thoughts turned to the flash of regret she'd witnessed on his face when he'd wondered at how much Chloe had grown. She wanted to address it, wanted to explain why she'd packed up her life and left him broken hearted.

"Bailey? Can we talk about the past eleven months?" He looked baffled, and so she elaborated. "Can I explain to you why I left with Chlo?"

Now he looked totally stunned. "Sam, you don't need to explain it. Really, you don't. I know why you did it. You had to do it. Chloe comes first."

"I know you love her. I'm so sorry you missed out on a year of her childhood. I never meant that to happen." She took a beat. "I know you looked at her and thought of the way you never got to participate in Frannie and Arianna's years of growing up, not to the extent you wanted to." She ventured a look at him and knew she'd been correct in guessing what had disturbed him.

She wanted to drive home her point. "It was never about you being not good enough. In either situation." She looked into the distance with a melancholy expression. "It was just..."

"Life," he finished off her sentence. "Sam, I don't blame you. You did what you had to. Don't you dare feel guilty about this."

She accepted his absolution. "Okay. I guess it's my protective streak making itself known. Good thing it's found its match in you."

"I''d say so."

"I think we'll have to learn to not head them to the extent that we're used to." At his puzzled look, she continued: "Isn't your protective streak ultimately the reason why you initially said no to me?"

He took in her words. "I guess you're right."

"To be fair, you're protective toward everyone. That's the reason you chose to be a profiler and why you excelled at it, and I love that about you. But I think you're gonna to have tell your streak to take a hike. Otherwise, we won't make this work."

"I'll try if you will." She nodded, glad that they'd discussed one of the things that had been troubling her.

She rose and scuttled to the stereos to put on a classical radio station. When she returned to the sofa, she sat down next to him and he looped his arm around her. They listened to the music, relishing one another's proximity.

* * *

As Sam walked down the stairs, she caught a whiff of coffee. Furrowing her brows, she walked straight into the kitchen to find Bailey there. "Morning," she greeted him, sounding surprised.

He'd been looking at the front yard, admiring the sunrise, but he turned when he heard footsteps. "Morning, Sam."

She looked at the clock on the wall, to make sure she hadn't misread the time. "Why are you up? It's barely seven in the morning!"

"I'm not much of a sleeper," he explained without ceremony, taking a sip of his drink.

"Uh huh. What were you staring at?" She walked up to him to see what had caught his attention.

"Just admiring the sunrise," he commented, turning back to gaze at it. Sam joined him in the activity.

To be honest, the sunrise wasn't spectacular in her eyes, but then she realized that Bailey hadn't probably been able to admire a sunrise or a sunset in weeks. The fight for the VCTF must have taken up all his time. In addition, he was sort of on a weekend getaway. That must lend any mundane occurrence some extra lustre.

"What would you like to eat?" she enquired, still looking at the yard, furrowing her brow at the overgrown grass on one side of the lawn. She hadn't noticed that he'd averted his eyes to her, having been distracted by the glimpse of her in the soft sunlight.

"Bailey?" She turned her head to look at him, and he avoided her eyes, trying to come up with a response that made sense. The first thing that came to his head: "Pancakes?"

She did a double take. "Pancakes?" He nodded his head vigorously. "Okay, pancakes it is."

* * *

"So, what's in store today?" Bailey asked.

The three of them were sitting at the table, dousing their pancakes with plain yoghurt and maple syrup and devouring them. Chloe had clapped with glee when she'd seen the breakfast menu.

Sam swallowed her mouthful. "Well, I thought we'd spend the morning here or in the neighborhood. There's no point in heading too far away from the stables. Chloe has her riding lesson at one."

"I'll be going through an obstacle course!" The girl's eyes shone with excitement. "Will you have a riding lesson, too, Uncle Bailey? It's super fun!" Sam watched as Bailey's face registered a great degree of alarm at the thought. Apparently, he only felt comfortable on a horse if it came with a set of wheels. She jumped to his rescue. "You know, sweetie, I don't think Uncle Bailey packed anything to wear for horseback riding. But, we'll watch you for a while, and then go groom Triniti together." Bailey shot her a grateful look, but his expression changed when she uttered the grooming bit.

Chloe looked a bit disappointed, but rallied her spirits soon. "You can go riding the next time you're here!" With that, she excused herself from the table and dashed off to the living room, anxious to get to her horse-related programming. Sam turned her gaze to Bailey, who looked a bit wary. "What does this grooming involve?"

A reassuring smile appeared on her face. "Don't worry, I'll teach you everything you need to know." He thought over her words as he ate. He was fine with horses, as long as he didn't need to ride one. He hadn't seen any horse up close since the day... Since that day. A scheming smile danced on his face for a while. It was time he got some payback, after all.

* * *

Sam and Bailey stood at the fence, leaning on it as they watched Chloe mount her pony and adjust the length of the stirrup leathers, then tighten the girth. Harry, the instructor, was already setting up the obstacles. Chloe steered her mount onto the circular footpath established by countless other horse-rider pairs. When she passed the adults, she gave them a wide grin. After that, she focused solely on the lesson, unaware of what her mom and uncle were up to.

"Wish you were out there, too?" Bailey asked, keeping a close eye on Chloe's progress.

"Nah, I can spare one hour of riding. I do like it, but I'm not as enthusiastic about it as she is. I only started again because the family therapist encouraged it. As a means of us bonding again," she explained.

He'd been looking at Sam, and he redirected his gaze back to the girl. "I can see that it worked. You seem as close as ever. That must be a relief for you."

"You have no idea," she sighed.

Bailey steered the conversation into safer territory. "She seems to be in her element out there."

"She does, doesn't she? I guess you only feel comfortable on a metal horse, not a breathing one, huh? I saw your face when Chlo suggested that you take a lesson," she teased.

He looked slightly affronted. "I just need to prepare myself mentally, that's all."

"Uh huh," she responded, sounding amused, as if not really buying his excuse. Behind Bailey, she spotted Annette riding Triniti into the stable yard. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him away from the fence. "Come on, it's time for you to earn your keep."

She led him to the equestrian pair. Annette dismounted and tucked the stirrups up, then looked up when Sam and Bailey approached her. Sam made the introductions. "Bail, this is Annette Grayson, the woman who lets me indulge my horse-owning fantasies without the hassle of reality. Annette, this is Bailey Malone, my... dear friend." She faltered a bit in her introduction of Bail. She'd have to dedicate a moment to coming up with a way of characterising him, now that they were starting to wade in the murky waters between friendship and romance. The man and the owner exchanged pleasantries.

"Is it okay if I teach Bailey here the basics of grooming?"

"Of course it is. You know Triniti loves all the attention he can get." Annette patted her horse's neck, then offered the reins to Sam. "Have fun. I'll see you next week."

"Uh, probably not. I'm thinking of spending the weekend in Atlanta." Bailey gathered that she was planning on attending the task force's wake, a fact that lifted his spirits concerning the week to come without her in Atlanta.

"Oh okay, just let me when you know for definite. Bailey, it was nice meeting you. Bye!" Annette waved her goodbyes and sauntered off in the direction of the small parking lot.

"Come on, let's head inside."

Sam took off the saddle and reins in Triniti's box, put a halter on him and led him to a showering stall, where she washed his legs. She was giving Bailey time to get used to the idea of grooming a horse. She walked the equine to a wide stall and secured him loosely on both sides of the wall. Triniti wasn't in the habit of making trouble. A fact of which Bailey remained less than convinced. "Are you sure this'll be safe?"

She allayed his fears. "Yes. Trin's used as a rehabilitation horse, for kids with cerebral palsy. He's a very steady character. I'm gonna go get the grooming box. You stay here and get acquainted."

"How?" He eyed the equine suspiciously.

"Blow into his nostrils! Gently!" she advised on her way.

He watched her go, wondering if she'd been serious. He looked at the dappled-grey horse. Triniti seemed nice enough. To be fair, the horse hadn't done anything alarming. Still, he wasn't about to blow into his nostrils. He was content to observe the mount, who was drooping his head low and shaking his tail lazily.

Sam returned in no time at all. "So, are you friends yet?"

His jaw dropped. "Were you serious about the nostril thing?"

"Yes! That's how horses get to know one another," she explained and set the box down on the ground. "Maybe another time, huh? Okay, let's get grooming!" She took out a body brush with long bristles.

"This here's a body brush. You use it at the start of the grooming, to remove any loose hairs and dirt from the coat. Make long sweeps, following the direction of the coat's hair growth. Like so," she demonstrated. "Have at it." She handed the brush to him. He approached the horse and applied the first sweeps carefully, keeping a close eye on Triniti's reactions. The horse appeared to be quite indifferent to his actions, and he started using a little bit more force. "I bet you two making a weekly habit out of this was a thrill for Chloe."

She smiled fondly. "Yeah, she loved horses and foals even when she was three years old. She could spend hours watching them at Tom's parents' place."

He paused in sweeping off the dirt and loose hairs. "That's right, they had horses. I'd forgotten that."

"I think being horse-crazy in the Waters gene pool, at least on the female side. Tom didn't really care for them, but then, Chloe, Helen, and his sisters, Emma and Maggie, make up for his lack of enthusiasm. I've learned to like them, myself," she quirked her lips. She watched as he finished brushing his side. She took the body brush from him and demonstrated how to use the rubber curry comb. Then she stepped over to the other side and started grooming Triniti with practiced moves.

"Have you seen them much? Your in-laws, I mean?"

Her expression was darkened by sad thoughts. "No, not really. I called them last year to tell them that Newquay was finally dead, but that didn't really heal the breach between us. I don't think we'll ever be as close as we once were."

Bailey read between the lines. She meant before Tom had died. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Well, it is what it is," she remarked, angling for a casual tone. "Let's see how you're getting on." She bowed under Triniti's neck and walked to his side. "Not bad! We'll make a horseman out of you yet. Are you finished?" At his nod, she continued her instructions: "Okay, then take this finishing brush and sweep away just like you did with the body brush. You can clear the brush with this." She handed him the finishing brush as well as a metallic curry comb and took the rubber curry comb from him.

* * *

Sam was rifling through the grooming box. "You know, the cooling ointment isn't here. I need to go get it from Annette's locker. Are you okay to stay here?" He nodded silently, standing next to Triniti. She scurried off, not seeing the smile on his face. The time had come. He ducked into the nearby vacant box and emerged out of it within seconds. Then he patted Triniti, positioned himself beside the horse's head and waited for Sam's return.

Sam thought of nothing when she saw Bailey's back to her. She approached him, unsuspecting: "Bail, do you want to..." She cut off her words when something dry and wiry invaded her mouth. He'd turned quickly and flung a handful of hay at her, and now he looked mighty pleased with himself. She sputtered the hay out of her mouth, then shot him a peeved look. "What was that?"

He smiled, not at all ashamed. "That was payback." She stepped closer to him as if she'd interrogate him further, but then she remembered the alluded incident, from years ago.

She looked a bit amused, in spite of herself. "Ah. I guess I had it coming, huh?"

"Yes," he intoned with an overly serious voice. He watched as she plucked the wiry hay off her flannel shirt, not having realised that some had ended up in her hair. He moved closer and she stopped her task, wondering what he was up to. He locked her eyes as he removed the strands of hay, then showed them to her. "Hay," he remarked with a gravelly voice.

"Thanks," she breathed out, affected by his all-encompassing presence and voice. He didn't back away, and the moment hung heavy. Her eyes darted to his lips and she unconsciously tilted her head up, just as he lowered his head a few inches.

Right then, Triniti nudged at Bailey's back, sending him a pace forward, causing a collision of heads alright, but not the kind they both had been anticipating: his chin collided with her forehead with some force. She backed away a bit, bringing her hand to nurse the offended part. "Ow. You okay?"

"Yeah. He has quite the timing," he muttered under his breath.

"Well, he does like the attention," she added just as the horse in question nudged Bailey again. She quirked a smile, side-stepped Bailey and scratched Triniti's withers. "We still have to pick his hooves and comb his mane. Let's get to it."

* * *

The sun had set twenty minutes ago, and in the twilight, stars are coming out. Bailey was sitting on the steps of the patio, gazing upward to the starry sky. When Sam noticed his preoccupation, she stepped back inside, flicked off the patio light and joined him outside. The air had a crisp quality about it; they would need more clothes in less than an hour if they wanted to spend the wee hours on the patio.

She sat down beside him, staring into the star-ridden horizon. They were silent for a few moments, content to contemplate the stars and planets over them in a pleasant silence.

"I haven't seen this many stars in a long time," he remarked before long.

"Mm. The last time I did some star-gazing was when we were still living on Angel's farm," she mused.

"For me, it was when I was enrolled, in the Far East. Not that you had a lot of time to gaze upwards. But there were a few occasions," he explained.

"I like looking at the stars. Gives you a sense of calm," he added after a while.

Sam nodded her head. "I think so, too. It's even worth the crick in your neck," she joked as she lowered her head and stretched the muscles in her neck. Bailey adjusted his position to one where he was leaning back, resting his weight on his arms. She observed his pose and was about to adopt a similar one when the hammock suspended between two spears nearby caught her attention. "Come with me," she said and coaxed him to follow her by grabbing his hand.

When he realised that she was dragging him towards the hammock for a clear purpose, he tried to talk her out of her whim. "Uh, Sam? You're not thinking that we'll both fit in the hammock, are you?"

"I know for a fact we will! I've lain in it with both Angel and Chloe, all three of us together," she replied, not deterred in the slightest by his doubts.

"Angel and Chloe are considerably lighter than I am," he pointed out.

"Not by that much, and besides, what's the worst that can happen?" she dismissed his concerns.

"We drop to the ground and fracture our coccyges?" That earned an amused look from her.

"Coccyges. That's a fun word," she smirked.

"Sam."

They were at the hammock already. She turned to him, put her fisted hands on her waist and looked at him with an expectant air. He recognised her challenge and tried to stare her down. They stared at one another for a while, before the inherent humour of the situation became apparent to both of them and they transitioned into another contest without communication, this time battling to keep from smiling.

"You might as well cave in now, Malone. I can wait all night if need be."

"Fine. I suspect you're crazy enough to follow through with your words."

"Damn straight, mister," she cackled and started to climb into the hammock. He halted her with a hand on her shoulder. "I' think I'd better go in first." She had to concede that he had a fair point, and so she stepped out of the way. He climbed into the hammock cautiously, trying to settle in the side to make room and balance the hammock as Sam prepared to climb in. "Ready?"

He nodded, and she gingerly started to make her way in, taking her time so he could place his weight to offset hers. After a few attempts that she halted to make sure the hammock didn't tip too much, she started to giggle and did so for a long time, with no apparent end in sight to her merriment.

Shifting his weight to the vacant edge of the hammock, he grabbed Sam by the waist and hoisted her in one swift move to his side. He was now on his back, whilst she was laying on her side. The sudden change snapped her out of her giggles in a heartbeat. She looked absolutely stupefied, and he had to laugh at her expression.

"That's why they call me the Rattle snake. And you're welcome."

"I didn't thank you yet," she murmured and pressed a lingering soft kiss on the side of his mouth. Soft tendrils of her hair fell down to tickle his face. She broke off the contact, withdrawing only a few inches. "So, thank you." Mesmerized, he gazed at her eyes, at her lips, then reached up to tuck her locks behind her ear and ran his fingers along her jawline ever so lightly.

Her breathing quickened at his caress. His fingertips moved to cup the back of her head, urging a slight tilt down whilst he raised his head to meet her half-way. The kiss was sweet, unhurried, slightly wary, as if testing if it was welcome. He broke off the kiss, searching her eyes. The sparkle in her blue orbs and the smile that blossomed across her mouth reassured him.

The next kiss was hers. She lowered her head and kept the kiss light, exploring his lips, changing the pressure of the kiss every so often so as to tease him a bit. Just as she felt him yield to her kiss, she withdrew from him, then uttered a bit breathlessly: "Thank you."

He'd felt disappointed at her for breaking the kiss, but her repeated words proved that she was as affected as he was by their kisses. He grinned at her. "You already said that," he pointed out, running his left hand through her hair.

She had to think back before she understood what he'd meant. She was amused in spite of the slight embarrassment she felt, and she thanked the stars that he couldn't see her blush in their light. She adjusted herself to lie beside him, and they both gazed at the far-away deep space objects in silence.

"So, do you actually know any constellations?" he asked after a while.

"I know Ursa Major, Polaris and the Orion. The first two should be visible now," she explained and twisted her head around, searching for them. "There they are. Do you know celestial navigation?"

"I used to," he sighed.

"Want a refresher course?"

"Sure," he mumbled.

She was happy to oblige. "Okay. You locate Polaris by following the front stars of the scoop part in Ursa Major. That's Polaris right there, see? Then, gaze up directly at the sky above your head. Trace a line there from Polaris. The resulting line points north. So... north is that way," she finished with pointing her hand in the correct direction. She stayed silent for a while, thinking that she'd better let the information sink in.

When she turned her head to look at Bailey, she saw that he'd dozed off. Taking advantage of this rare opportunity, she gazed at him, his unguarded expression and relaxed features. Then she began to feel drowsy, too. She whipped out her cell phone and set a timer for their nap. It wouldn't do to fall asleep outside without a blanket. She kept the phone in her left hand and gingerly re-positioned herself so she could lay on her side and snuggle up to him. Her head ended on his shoulder and she wrapped her right arm around his torso. After doing so, his left hand moved to cover her arm. She smiled and closed her eyes, drifting off.

The next thing she knew was Bailey's gruff command: "Turn it off. Turn it off." The timer alarm had intruded upon their joint slumber with its shrill tone. She turned off the alarm and glanced at the screen of the phone. It was 11.08. As loath as she was to sleep without him, she knew they needed to go inside. Grunting, she raised her head and put her weight on her left arm. Bailey was still trying to sleep, the alarm tone not having reminded him of their current sleeping situation.

She spoke in a hushed tone. "Bailey?"

"Yeah, baby?" he asked sleepily.

_Baby_? That term of endearment almost made Sam throw caution to the wind and sleep outside, just so she could hear it again. "We need to go inside now. Come on."

"Is fine here," he mumbled out as a response.

"No, it'll get cold soon. Did you hear me?" She jiggled her hand on his shoulder for a bit.

"Yes," he sighed.

"So, let's get going before you get stiff from sleeping here. You're no spring chicken, you know," she added with barely contained laughter. Her tease earned a look from him, one that she guessed to be stern. She smiled and kissed him, a kiss more tangible and affectionate than the ones before. "Don't look so mad. I love you all the same."

His expression melted and he caressed her neck. "Love you too."

"Now, let's go inside or I'll resort to tickling you." She started to get out of the hammock, causing it to tip dangerously.

"Hold your horses, woman," Bailey said, trying to keep the hammock balanced while Sam clambered onto steady ground.

As she watched him climb out, she remarked: "Woman? I liked baby better."

Now on solid ground, too, he rubbed his face to awaken himself. Sam's words didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense at the moment. "Huh?"

"You called me baby a moment ago," she reminded him as she twined her arm around his waist and fell into step with him. "When you were half asleep."

"Oh," he replied, unsure what to say next.

"For the record, I liked it. Hint, hint," she prodded him, wanting to see if he'd use the term again. He drew her closer and kissed her temple, then murmured: "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Sam put the coffee maker on and sat down at the kitchen table, glancing at the newspaper laid out in front of her. It was a little before eight, and while Chloe's late slumber didn't come as a surprise, she was surprised that Bailey hadn't made his way down yet. He must be still sleeping.

A smile appeared on her face as she reminisced the events of the night before. The hammock, the caresses, the kisses. He wasn't a half-bad kisser. _And then some_, she mused. She should probably adjust her description to a more correct one, seeing how much trouble she'd had falling asleep.

Her dreamy smile faded when she heard steps on the stairs. Someone was coming down. She stared at the doorway and witnessed her baby girl entering the kitchen. "Morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Mom," Chloe yawned, the sleepiness not having abandoned her yet.

"Did you sleep well?" Chloe grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, then sat down. Sam handed the comics pages to her. "Yeah. How about you?"

"I slept very well," Sam said in a white lie.

"Are we going to the fair today?" Chloe asked.

"I don't see why not. We'll pick up Stella on the way, okay?" Chloe nodded. Stella was her best friend, whose family lived three miles from them. The girls had made a habit of going everywhere together.

"You know, I'm gonna have to give Bailey a ride home today. Do you mind staying at Stella's while I drive to Atlanta?"

The girl shook her head. "We can play with Mysz." Mysz was Stella's cocker spaniel. For three months, Chloe had been trying to convince Sam to buy them a dog, but her mother hadn't budged yet. Spending time with Stella's dog was the next best thing.

Chloe tore her eyes away from the comics. "Mom? Will Uncle Bailey come for visits more often from now on?"

Sam reached out and stroked the girl's hair away from her face. "I hope so. Would you like that?"

Chloe nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, I would." She started to say something, but took a brief pause before continuing. "Do you love him? I mean, love him love him?"

Sam couldn't hide her surprise. "Why do you ask?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Duh, I'm thirteen. I'm old enough to see it."

Sam looked at her daughter, wondering when she'd grown up this much. "Yes, I love him. How do you feel about that?" she queried, searching Chloe's face.

The girl smiled. "I'm happy about it."

Sam felt relief at her daughter's words. She'd been worrying about her and Angel's reactions the most. Now, she felt as light as air. Things were finally looking up.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

Chloe scrunched up her face, deciding between options. "Cereal, please."

Sam fixed breakfast for both of them. As they ate, Chloe filled Sam in on the happenings of her riding lesson. Bailey sauntered into the sunny kitchen at half past eight.

"Morning, sleepy head!" Sam was the first to notice his arrival. Chloe echoed her mother's greeting.

He mumbled something incoherent in response, and the Waters mom-daughter duo chuckled.

"I can't believe I slept in so late. Is there any coffee?" he asked hopefully.

Sam pointed to the coffee maker on the counter. "Of course. Must be all the fresh air from yesterday, day and night," she reasoned innocuously enough, but Bailey caught her hidden reference to their time in the hammock. Luckily, his back was back to them, so he was able to wipe off the coffee drops he'd spilled with his sleeve.

He turned around with a blank expression on his face to see Sam looking at him. "Must be," he conceded and gazed at Sam, then sipped his coffee. His expression soured, for the coffee had cooled. Sam guessed what his expression meant, and she got up without further ado and offered to make a fresh batch of coffee. The adults haggled over who'd make the coffee as the girl watched on for a while.

"I'm gonna go watch the news," Chloe announced as she rose from the table.

Sam eyed her daughter with a suspicious look. "The news or that dog show?"

"The news! It's on first," she added slyly. She walked over to Bailey and gave him a hug out of the blue. Then, she took her tea mug and headed for the living room sofa.

Bailey shot Sam a questioning look, and she explained: "I told her. She was happy about it." He seemed relieved to her. She said in a low voice: "Now, come here." She grabbed handfuls of his black sweater, tugging him closer, and gave him a languorous kiss. "Morning," she murmured when they parted. She straightened the bundles her fists had made in his sweater.

He caressed her cheek, moved his hand to her chin, tilted her head up and kissed her in return. "Morning."

"Sit down. I'll make you some breakfast. What do you want to eat?"

"Anything. I don't care."

He sat down by the table and she set to work. He stared at her while she prepared breakfast for him, revelling in this new-found feeling of euphoria. All in all, the freedom to act on his urges to touch and kiss Sam was proving to be an intoxicating feeling. She turned around with his breakfast plate and then beamed at him, having read his feelings on his face. "Bon appétit." She sat as company while he ate.

* * *

"Oh no," Sam groaned as she and Bailey followed the two conspiring girls who had a clear destination in mind. Sure enough, they ended up standing over a box where cute golden retriever puppies fought for attention from the lookers-on. Chloe and Stella cooed over them, with Chloe throwing pleading looks at her mom.

Sam remained unmoved by her daughter's antics, which included handing a puppy to her. Even holding the small canine wasn't enough for Sam to relent. Chloe took the puppy away and set him down, looking totally dejected. Bailey had been content to admire the puppies, not intervening into the tug of war between mother and daughter.

Seeing Chloe's disappointment, he moved closer to her and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes lit up and she nodded her head, then thanked him. Whatever he said to her, it was enough to tear her away from the puppies. The girls made a beeline for the rides, and Sam and Bailey had no choice but to follow in their wake. Sam's curiosity demanded to be sated: "What did you say to her?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he smiled conspiratorially. Despite several attempts, she couldn't pry it out of him.

They ambled around the fair as the girls went on several rides. They looked at merchandise, tried their luck and skills at a couple of booths, all the while keeping track of Chloe and Stella.

They were at the sugar candy booth when, out of the corner of her eye, Sam caught a sight that sent shivers down her spine. Her heart thumping, she turned away from Bailey to chase the sight, somehow both dreading and feeling compelled to do so, as if confronting the sight would make her fear disappear.

He watched Sam's smile fade and her freeze, her gaze fixing on something at a distance, her attention rapt even as she seemed to be thrown into inner turmoil. He followed her eyes and glimpsed a hint of a white suit – the memory of Newquay's clothes coming back to him from the day the killer had kidnapped Sam. He looked back at her, guessing that she was remembering the same event and a flashback could soon follow, if he didn't help her fend it off.

He stepped in front of her, blocking the offending suit, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and calling her name. Her gaze looked into the distance, through him. He ran his hands up and down her arms, willing her to the present and murmuring to her.

Bailey's tactile and aural reminders snapped Sam out of her frightened state. When he could see that the crisis had been averted, he turned her around, took her hand and started walking in a direction opposite to where Sam had been staring. She realised he was taking her back to the ride Chloe and Stella were riding. He'd known that seeing her daughter would calm her down. She disentangled her hand from his grasp, instead winding it around his waist. He drew her closer and they made their way to the ride to wait until Chloe and Stella would get off.

They stood near the apparatus, watching the people on it whooping out of delight. Bailey wanted to give Sam a chance to compose herself, and so he kept silent, opting to steady her nerves with his presence. They remained silent for a few minutes and looked on as the girls stepped off and queued up again for the ride.

Finally, he felt compelled to ask: "Are you okay?" He looked at her closely. She nodded: "Yeah. Thanks. It's just that..."

She looked morosely at the distance and sighed heavily. "I guess I haven't healed all the way yet. What with the flashback last week, and the scare just minutes ago," she said softly.

Her confession worried Bailey. He'd thought she would have come to grips with the years of her torment over the past eleven months. The fact that some healing still remained to be done had him thinking of ways to bridge the divide between torn and healed.

Her next words threw him for a loop. "I guess I've been waiting for you," she uttered, looking at him to gauge his reaction.

She felt his arm go lax around her and she knew she'd surprised him. She turned to look him in the eyes. "I don't mean that you're now in charge of my healing, in charge of me taking the last step in the process. That's my responsibility. All the same, I think the last piece will fall into place with you in the picture. In whatever capacity you'll be in my life," she hastened to add to take the pressure off him. She didn't want him thinking that her survival depended on his concession to a relationship with her.

She fell silent and searched his face. He hadn't given any outward signs of his thoughts. Realising that she was waiting for him to say something, he ran his hands down her arms and clasped her hands. "I won't lie. Your admission has me worried. But, I'm here for you, and nothing can ever change that. I'll help you take the final step."

Sam nodded at his promise and her lips curled to a small smile. She withdrew one hand from his and started leading him to the ride queue. "Come on, if I don't stop the girls now they'll soon be sick and throw up in the car. I've learned that the hard way."

* * *

He was in the driver's seat, taking driving directions from Sam. He'd offered to drive because Sam would have to drive back in any case. The menial task also prevented him from contemplating the upcoming four days without Chloe and Sam, thoughts that were sure to turn gloomy in no time. So, he was content to focus on something else.

She ventured a look at him. One thing had been plaguing her for a few weeks now, and she couldn't keep silent any longer. "Bailey? Can I ask you what you intend to do after Friday? After the task force is done?"

A sad expression appeared on his face. "Would you believe me if I told you I haven't really thought about it? Because I truly haven't."

She digested his words. "Okay, you haven't thought about it. What would you want to do?"

He pondered her question for a while. "I don't think I'm ready to call it quits inside the Bureau."

"Are you thinking of taking another leadership position? Joining a field office somewhere?" The prospect of Bailey choosing to relocate in some distant city disconcerted Sam greatly. Not that she would try to dissuade him, if that was really what he wanted to do.

"No, more like... I still want to make a difference, but I'm tired of the bs that crops up when you try to lead an office." He shrugged. "Maybe I'll see if I can get back into Quantico. Teach new agents."

She was pleased at his idea. "You should. You were a great instructor."

* * *

She disentangled herself from his embrace, hating every minute of it. "I have to head back. I need to rescue Mysz from Chlo."

His thoughts were hazy at the moment, but he was pretty sure he hadn't heard of the person in need of rescuing. "Who's Mysz?"

A pained look crossed her face. "Stella's dog. I told you she's been begging me to get her a dog." He turned his head to hide his incipient smile. He wondered when Chloe would launch the offensive.

She started to rise from the sofa when he grabbed her hand. "Wait."

She shot him an exasperated look. "Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"It's not that... I hate knowing that you might have a nightmare tonight and I won't be there," he remarked, alluding to her scare at the fair.

His worry swelled her heart. "I'll be fine. They're just dreams. But thanks, honey." She gave him one last kiss. "Love you."

"Love you, too." When he started to get up, she halted him with a gesture. "No, I think you'd better stay seated. I need a clean get-away." She threw her coat on and checked the contents of her purse. "I'll see you on Friday. Stay out of trouble until then," she said from the door.

"Always!"

He watched her close the door and listened for the rev of the car engine, a signal of her departure. He sat on his marks, thinking about the weekend he'd had. He was sad to say it, but it was the most fun he'd had in a long time. As a result, he felt more at-ease, more peaceful. When he was with Sam, he felt... _right_. A feeling to be marvelled at and cherished, for sure.

He ordered take-out, and while he waited for the food to be delivered, he passed the time by reading Herbert's poems. He found that he quite enjoyed them. He devoured his cuisine and read for an hour, then decided to take a quick shower.

After the shower, he wandered into the kitchen, wondering whether to go for a glass of water or a stiff drink. He opted for the water, thinking to him that Sam would be proud of his choice. She'd always been prodding him to drink less. He gulped down one glass and filled it again, then started for the sofa. He noticed that the message light on the answering machine was blinking. He'd missed a call, probably because of his shower. He listened to the message and grinned at the end of it.

"_It's Sam. I can't believe you told Chloe I might be willing to get her a cat. You're in a whole world of trouble, Malone. Just wait until I see you on Friday." _

_TBC..._


	5. Last Confession

(I own nothing.)

**LAST CONFESSION **

Sam stepped out of the elevator onto the task force floor, silently musing that this would be the last time she did so. Her gloomy thoughts didn't linger, however, since the premises were full of agents milling around, having a laugh whilst music was blaring from several points. She headed for Bailey's office, but it was full of agents, with no Bail in sight. She smiled and greeted the agents in passing before moving on, letting her gaze sweep the place.

Finally, she spotted Bailey, John, George and, to her surprise, Nathan standing beside John's desk. As she walked up to the men, George was telling some animated story and they remained intent on listening to the unfolding yarn. Bailey noticed her first and she stepped quietly to his side. He looked at her with a smile and she responded by finding his left hand with her right one and squeezing it discreetly. George stopped his story to accommodate Sam's arrival, and she and Nathan shared a hug.

"It's so good to see you again," she remarked warmly.

"You, too," Nathan responded in kind.

"I don't mean to interrupt. I'll catch all of you later. I'm gonna go find Grace," she excused herself.

"Try the cafeteria," George suggested.

She nodded and turned around, letting her fingertips brush against Bailey's for a fleeting second. Then, she was gone, in search of her friend.

Just as George had said, she found Grace in the cafeteria, mounting various snacks onto her plate. "Hey, Grace," she greeted as she walked up behind her friend.

"Hi Sam, good to see you again," Grace responded and gave her a one-armed hug. "You gonna get anything?" she asked, gesturing to the foods in front of her.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll go get us a table."

"I'll be right behind you."

Sam sat down at a table next to the window wall of the little cafeteria nook and waited for her friend, passing the time by looking at her former co-workers and one in particular. Luckily everyone seemed to be in a good mood. She focused on her pathologist friend when she arrived at the table.

"So, how was your week?" Sam queried.

"Slow," Grace replied. "Not much to do, really."

"When are you flying out to New York?" Grace had received a job offer for a position similar to the one she'd held in the Bureau in the Big Apple. Some of her family resided there, so she was seriously considering the offer.

"Next week's Wednesday."

"When do you have to decide?"

"They're giving me a week to think it over after I've seen the place."

"What's your gut tell you?"

Grace munched on salted peanuts, looking thoughtful. She shrugged her shoulders. "I might end up taking it. But it'll never be this task force." They shared a commiserating smile.

"Did you see Nathan already?" the pathologist asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I said hello. It's so great to see him again. What is he doing now?"

"He's moved up to Seattle with Michelle. He's working in the Bureau there, as a liaison for the agents on legal issues."

"Do you know if Marcus is coming, too?" She hadn't spotted their other former co-worker.

Grace shook her head, swallowing down a bite of her muffin. "I don't think Bailey was able to get a hold of him."

"That's a shame," Sam sighed.

Grace looked at her with unconcealed interest. "So, how are you?"

Sam offered her a coy smile. "I'm fine."

"Judging from your tone of voice, I bet you're a little bit better than fine. That and Bailey's mood nowadays," she added to her reasoning.

Sam looked intrigued. "His mood?"

"You know, if I didn't know him at all, I would describe him as approaching giddy," Grace dead-panned.

Sam giggled. "Bailey? Giddy? _That_ would be a sight to behold." She looked at the man in question.

There was no mistaking the meaning of her friend's expression. "I guess everything's finally falling into places for you guys," Grace ventured.

Sam beamed a happy smile. "I think so." She snapped out of her contented thoughts. "Although, he's got a little payback headed his way. Wanna help me?"

She explained the situation to her friend and enlisted her help for one final field training exercise.

* * *

The agents had gathered inside the command center, for the time had come to salute their boss and by extension, themselves one final time. Bailey was to give a speech, and there were rumours of a surprise of sorts for the man in question.

Bailey stepped in front of the huge computer main screen to thunderous applauds. He gazed upon his audience with apparent fondness. "On this last night, I want to echo my praise to you from three years ago. Then, I thanked you for your commitment and your great work. Years later, the same thanks are still in order. You excelled at your job, and with your help, the violent crimes task force caught 101 criminals and saved countless innocent lives. Remember your employment here with pride. It's been an honour to lead you. Thank you and all the best to everyone of you," he concluded his speech and raised his glass. The listeners raised their glasses and murmurs of "hear, hear" were heard in every corner of the command center.

After the toast, the agents didn't have time to wonder about the surprise much longer. Sam raised her voice and started heading to Bailey from the midst of the agents. "Excuse me, could I have your attention for a few moments?" The agents were happy to oblige, guessing that now the fun would start in earnest. Bailey looked at her curiously when she reached him, for she looked like the cat who ate the canary. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered to him: "Told you you were in trouble."

She turned to face the crowd and began her address. "Hi everyone. I promise this won't keep you long. You'll be back to your socializing in no time. No worries on that account. How are you all doing?" Her nerves were kicking in and making her go off on a tangent, a fact that Bailey realized. He placed his hand on her back lightly, pulling her thoughts back into focus. She shot him a brief, grateful smile. "Like Bailey, I wanted to express my gratitude to you for your hard work and, of course, for saving my life last year. It was a pleasure to work with you for three years," she declared to the agents. She paused for applauds the crowd was giving her, then held up her hands to quieten them. "Now, the fun begins. One final field training exercise, this time for our boss!"

Bailey's employees clapped with glee, but he hardly took notice of such things, as he was busy bracing himself for some mildly humiliating task. In the end, it wasn't overly embarrassing. He needed to find five pieces of yellow post-its that Grace, Rachel, John, George and Sam had hidden on the premises. Once he'd located the pieces, he had to write out a limerick to fit the words, which were: hook, wasp, tetracycline, ring and icaism.

After the exercise, the party resumed. Sam found out that George would head to Washington D. C. to work in a cyber crimes unit, while John would stay in Atlanta and head up his own unit in the local police department. Rachel would continue in the Atlanta field office as a profiler. Bailey told his closest friends of his possible plans. Concerning work. He remained as discreet as ever with regard to matters of the heart.

* * *

All the agents had departed for the after party, which would be held in an upscale bar across the street. Only Sam and Bailey remained in the task force premises. While most of the agents had voiced passionate invitations to the boss and the former profiler to join them in the festivities, none really expected them to make an appearance.

Bailey and Sam regarded each other for a while, sitting on the stairs on the command center. Sam had picked up on something among her former co-workers, so she opted to pursue that for a moment: "Was it just me or did John and Rachel seem awfully chummy tonight?"

Bailey glanced at her, then flashed a dry smile. "So I wasn't the only one. In fact, I think they've been on the fence for a while now."

Sam digested this bit of news, then chuckled to herself. "Well, I wish them well. Still, it seems like yesterday when he had that crush on me." Off his slightly miffed expression, she decided to try and get his goat. "He may have even asked me out to dinner once."

That definitely surprised him. "And how may you have responded?"

Pleased at detecting the slightest bit of jealousy in his voice, she shrugged and smiled conspiratorially: "I may have declined and said something about me already having all the action figures."

That earned a hearty laugh from him, and she laughed with him. They both took a sip from their glasses, feeling a comforting warmth spread through their bodies. Then, they regarded one another soberly.

Finally, she broached a subject that seemed fitting for the setting at hand. After all, they were the only ones left, still toasting the demise of a task force they'd founded together, in part to capture Jack.

"Bailey? I realised something a few days back, at home. Have you ever realised that you, too, are a victim of Jack's? He didn't just happen to me. He also happened to _you. _And you haven't really taken the time to heal from those seven years." She watched as he considered her words.

She added: "So, seeing as we're in the place we founded together to bring an end to Jack, it'd be a nice bookend to the story to finish it with me lightening your burden."

"How are you going to do that?" He sounded puzzled.

She looked at him with a speculative gleam in her eyes. "I'm guessing that you haven't read the case files of my kidnapping."

He took a moment to respond, then shook his head. "No, I haven't. My reading them felt like... a violation of your trust, somehow."

She had to beam at him. "God, Bailey... I really do love you." He didn't think he'd ever tire of hearing those words.

She took a beat. "Do you want me to tell you now?"

He felt apprehensive, but then his need to know won out. He nodded without a word.

"Okay." She edged up a stair, scooted closer to him, and began her story.

"After you... exited the cabin, I started taking out the groceries. I heard footsteps behind me, so I started to ask you something, I forget what. I turned around to see Newquay, in a white suit, with a bouquet of red roses in his hands." She had to take a slight pause, shuddering a bit. He stretched his right arm around her.

"He started talking about Lucas, how over the top he'd been, that Lucas actually believed himself to be him. That's when I knew for sure, and my next thought was you," she breathed, looking at Bailey in the eyes. They leaned into one another, their foreheads touching.

After a moment, she withdrew, ready to continue her story. "He said that I didn't need you, that he was all I needed and that we'd be together. I ransacked the place, looking for a weapon to use against him, but I couldn't find any, not even cutlery. He must have swept the cabin before we arrived. When he realised that I wouldn't leave you behind and I wouldn't go anywhere with him voluntarily, he shot me with a tranquillizer gun." She unconsciously grabbed her neck, where the dart had hit her almost a year ago.

"I came to on a bed, in a room awash with light. I felt groggy but I got up, looked around the room. Not before long, he came in. I demanded that I be allowed to call Chloe, he yammered on about something and finally brought up the cabin. He..." She had to compose herself. "He said that I should be flattered, because the last word you said on this earth was my name." She chanced a glance at him. "Could that be true?"

He looked puzzled, trying to remember the events. "I think so." She let out a small sob and her shoulders shook a few times. She was trying hard to keep her emotions under check. He pulled her to his side, running his hand down her back. After a while, she steeled herself again and plowed on with the rest of her story.

At the end of her tale, he took her hands in his and bestowed a kiss on the knuckles of each. His act of tenderness was nearly her undoing, but she sniffed and beamed at him with watery eyes instead.

"You wanna lighten my burden?" At his inquisitive look, she added: "Do you want to tell me about the shooting?" He took a gulp of his Scotch, then decided to do as she requested. He closed his eyes, seeing the incident in his mind's eye. "I didn't see anything suspicious as I walked up to the car. I was standing at the open boot when the bullet hit, catching me in the left shoulder. I swung forth and then back, managed to pull out my gun in a haze, but then I... slid to the ground and blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital."

"That's twice now that you've been shot and I wasn't there for you." She looked agonized.

He countered her words with his own regrets. "That was twice that you were kidnapped by him and I was missing in action." They both accepted the other's grievances without a word, without seeking to absolve the feelings of guilt. They knew that some things couldn't be helped through reasoning or logic.

"Can I see the scar?"

He looked into her eyes and saw that her plea had been earnest. He nodded silently and started to unbutton his vest, only to have her swat away his hands and carry on with the deed herself. She divested him of his garment and started on the buttons of the dress shirt, tucking at its hem to pull it from underneath his pants. When the hem was out, she ran her hands up and slid the shirt sleeve down his left hand. She looked at him, asking for final permission. He gave a little nod and she stretched the fabric of his white undershirt, her cool, gentle fingers ghosting over his skin.

He watched her face intently, witnessing the shock and grief on her face when she located the protruding skin of the scar. She gazed at it for a while, then bit her lip and traced it softly with her fingertips. She covered it with her hands and closed her eyes, as if trying to will it out of existence. He felt compelled to remind her of the present, so he ran his right hand up her back, over her shoulder and along her left arm to reach her hand, still resting over his scar. Her head had lolled to the left when he started the caress, and she opened her eyes when his hand landed over hers.

She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispered in a broken voice. Before he could respond, she'd claimed his lips in a soft, sweet kiss, full of an overwhelming desire to comfort, to soothe. She moved her hands from his scar, ghosting her digits over his collarbone, caressing his neck, face, earlobes. All the while kissing him, conveying affection in the loveliest and most pleasurable way imaginable.

She pressed a few kisses on the side of his mouth and cheek, and then he took over, giving her the same comfort she'd bestowed upon him. He brushed his lips along her cheek, chin, neck. She put her arms around him and he reciprocated, their mutual comforting ending in a hug.

"Baby, I'm fine," he whispered into her ear. He felt her move her head, guessing that she'd nodded.

They jumped when the phone console on the command center table peeped an incoming call. Sam disentangled from him and moved back a couple of feet so he could get up and answer the call.

He spoke a few brief words and hung up, smiling at Sam regretfully. "My carriage awaits upstairs. Frannie's coming down as we speak."

Sam looked at his rumbled state and got a hold of his vest, then stood up. "Let's get you presentable, then. Don't want to set a bad example to your daughter, do you?" she joked. Having been reminded of the current state of his clothes, he started buttoning his shirt quickly, then tucked it into his pants. She handed him the vest and he threw it on.

They started heading for the elevator. "You're a very quick dresser! Good to know," she commented flirtatiously. He shot her an annoyed look, signalling that this wasn't probably the best time to be putting those kinds of thoughts into his head. She saw the look and giggled at his exasperation.

They arrived at the elevator just as the doors opened. Sam was surprised at how grown up Frances had become in her two years of college. Gone was the long hair, and in its stead was now a stylish and sleek bob. Apart from the hair, physical changes were scarce, but her air was altogether different from two years ago, more mature, open and self-aware.

Sam watched on as the father and daughter shared a hug. Then, the brunette daughter turned to her and gave her a warm greeting and a hug, too. "Hi Sam, it's great to see you again."

"You too. You look so beautiful and grown up!"

A pleased smile flashed on Frances' face. "Thanks. So, did you have fun at this wake?"

"We had a wonderful time," Sam replied, not realizing that she was speaking for the two of them. When she heard her own words, she hazarded a look at Frances to see how she'd reacted to her phrasing. She found the daughter gazing behind them, at the vacant premises. Her words hadn't merited a reaction from Frances. Sam wondered if Bailey had told his oldest daughter about the two of them. Maybe he would this weekend.

At his daughter's reminder that taxis cost money, Bailey ducked into his office to retrieve his box of personal belongings. Over the years, he'd adorned his office with an assortment of wooden art work, photo frames, paintings and plaques. As he picked up the heavy box, he mused over the last four years, everything that had happened and he'd overseen from this office.

Now, he still didn't have a clue about what his future looked like. Professionally, at the very least. On the personal front, things were beginning to take shape, after a year of muddled feelings and uncertainty.

When he emerged from the darkened office, he noticed Sam watching him carefully, no doubt trying to read his mood. He offered her a small smile and she looked heartened. Frances had taken a brief walk around the premises, looking in through the windows of various spaces. She joined her father and Sam at the elevator.

"Sam, where are you staying?" Frances asked from the blonde woman.

"I'm taking a cab to my friend Angel's farm. My daughter's there, too," Sam explained. The elevator doors opened and they boarded it.

"Will we see you this weekend?" Bailey looked at Sam, quietly pleased that his daughter had asked the question.

Sam looked regretful. "I don't think I'll have time. And I trust you'll have a great time together. Do you have any plans already?"

"None, we'll have to wing it, or as much as my dad is able to," Frances joked.

The elevator reached the ground floor, and Bailey and Sam relinquished their keys and security passes to the front desk clerk. Frances strode to the waiting cab, with the adults trailing behind her. They hadn't spoken about when they'd see one another again or, indeed, how they would proceed from now on. Now wasn't the time for such a discussion, and so both decided to let the matter rest for a few days.

Frances was talking to the driver, and Bailey placed his box on the back seat, then turned to Sam, about to say something when she interrupted him pre-emptively. "I know, the taxi stand's right around the corner," she murmured with a smile on her face. "It was great seeing you, Frances. Let's get together soon, maybe on your summer break."

"I'd like that. Take care," the daughter replied. She slid on to the front seat to give the adults a chance to say goodbye alone. She wanted to afford them privacy, but that didn't stop her from observing them surreptitiously from the side view mirror.

Sam took a good look at Bailey. "You okay?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded, not quite knowing how he felt. She read his confusion from his face and ran her fingers along the lapels of his coat. "You'll be fine." She wrapped her arms around him and they shared a hug. She angled her head a bit and murmured to him: "Love you." He squeezed her tight and responded: "Love you, too."

They broke apart and she uttered her last words: "Have fun with Frannie. I'll call you. Night." He gave her a fond look and wished her a good night. She then turned around and started towards the street corner. He watched her for a few paces and then climbed into the cab.

* * *

Bailey and Frances were sitting around the kitchen island, enjoying a late night snack before going to bed. She'd caught him up to speed on her studies and he'd shared the events of the last day of the VCTF. He'd also mentioned that he was considering getting back into training, being careful to stress that it was just an idea at this point.

Setting down her now-empty plate, she raised the issue of his beautiful former co-worker. "I didn't know Sam had rejoined the task force."

Bailey shook his head subtly. "She didn't. I mean, she came back for a few weeks, to help out."

She got up and carried the plates and cups to the sink. "To close cases?"

"Yeah, and to help with Rachel's case," he added.

She filled a large glass with water, to take to her room for the night. "Isn't she a psychologist? Think she might be willing to help me with my major? If I have trouble with theories and such?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see why not."

"Great! I'll be sure to ask her when she calls here," she commented slyly, wanting to see how her dad would respond to her presumption. He just got up and placed his chair closer to the island. Either it might happen very soon or he was really beat, she reasoned. They called it a night, but not before Frances made her dad swear that he'd sleep in as late as he felt like.

* * *

On Saturday, the daughter-father duo spent the day in town, scouring the shops for various objects she'd deemed that her dad needed for his house. They ate an early dinner at Rico's, the restaurant where they'd celebrated her eighteenth birthday, and then returned home to tune up his Harley. The parts he'd ordered weeks ago had finally arrived.

They changed into slacks and them headed for the garage. As he uncovered the bike, they discussed Frannie's plans to visit the center she used to volunteer at on the following day.

"I called the center today. Looks like Dan and Casey will be there tomorrow, so I'm happy about that." She'd become good friends with the pair that ran the center during her community service.

"When will you go over?" He folded the tarp into a neat pile.

"Around two, I think. Hey, there isn't a speck of dust on this thing," she remarked, inspecting the bike.

"Sam insisted that she and I work on it together. Since the parts hadn't come in yet, cleaning was the only thing on the table," he responded, making light of the event.

"She stayed here while she helped you with the cases?" Frances sounded curious.

"Yeah," he replied hesitantly.

Interesting, but not surprising, all things considered. Her dad and Sam always been close friends, a fact she remembered from her childhood. She knew the woman had given him relentless support when she herself was giving him a hard time. And then there was the fact that he'd stayed at her place last weekend and that she'd found them alone at the task force last night. Not to mention the way they'd looked at one another when they'd said good night.

All in all, it was cause for a great deal of curiosity. "So, what's the deal? With you two?" Her dad gave her a wary look. How would he begin to explain _that_ particular story? He bought himself time by fetching the toolbox and beginning to rifle through it.

Frances saw that a little prodding was needed. "From what I've gathered, she was kidnapped by that psycho because of whom she had to live in that fire station safe house, you and Mom had a spectacular crash-and-burn right in the middle of that, Sam was rescued and then she quit the FBI."

"That's about the size of it," he agreed. Minus a few details, he thought to himself.

"And now she's back. In the picture, I mean. But as what?"

"Why are you asking?" He walked to the bike, having found the tools he needed first.

"I'm asking cos you're my dad and I want to see you happy. Plus, I'm plain old nosey," she admitted cheekily. "Well, someone has to get up all in your grill and make sure you're taking care of yourself," she reasoned.

Bailey had to acknowledge that she was right. In the months both Sam and Frannie had been absent, he'd thrown himself into his work and had lapsed into some bad habits, like not sleeping enough and eating unhealthily.

"So, what's the deal?" she prodded yet again.

"We're working on it," he hedged. Laying out the intricacies of his heart was something he wasn't ready to do with his daughter. He feared that it would disrupt the relationship she had with her mother. He already had a contentious relationship with Janet because of his feelings for Sam; he didn't wish for his daughter to be dragged in the middle of it.

"Is that all you're going to say?" she asked, sounding a little annoyed.

"For the time being," he answered in a resolute voice and settled himself on the floor next to the bike.

"Okay, but I'm warning you, we're not finished with this conversation," she issued her final say and handed him the screwdriver.

* * *

Frances and Bailey were clearing out the table after a light lunch. She decided that the time had come for a new attack.

"So, you wanna talk about Sam again?" At his perturbed look, she reminded him: "I told you that we weren't done with this."

He knew he had to divulge something. Frances wouldn't let the matter rest until he did. "You know that my relationship with your mom is strained. Well, that's because of this very issue. I don't want to thrust you in the middle of it."

She nearly rolled her eyes. "Dad, I'm a big girl. You don't need to protect me from mom. I'm capable of supporting both of you even when you don't see eye to eye. So... you and mom ended things because of Sam?"

He took a moment, wondering how to best explain the events. "Well, when I came to in the hospital my focus was on finding Sam, nothing else. Your mom decided that she'd had enough and left. I don't blame her. I was nearly killed and still work won out."

"But not just work, right? I mean, it was Sam who was missing. Your closest friend," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he agreed with a sober look.

"When did you realise you loved her?" She turned on the faucet to rinse the dishes.

He handed the plates over to her. "A few days later," he replied in a soft voice.

She thought over what she knew of the events. A few days later would mean that his realisation had happened while Sam had still been missing. She felt for her dad. He must have been devastated during that time.

Luckily, things had turned out for the best. "I'm assuming that she loves you back." At his subtle nod, she asked the million dollar question: "So what's holding you back? Since you're still 'working on it,' as you put it." She opened the dishwasher and placed the plates on the lower rack.

"I... we have to sort out some personal issues," he answered and placed the glasses inside the washer.

She knew better than to try pry it out of him. "Oh. For what it's worth, I think she'd be good for you. She's been good for you as a friend. I don't think that a relationship would change that," she reasoned.

He was touched by Frannie's ready acceptance and approval. Arianna might be a different story, but knowing that his older daughter had no objections to a relationship eased his mind. "Thanks, sweetheart."

They'd loaded the dishwasher, and she turned it on, then looked at her dad. "Sure. You need someone who'll take care of you. Someone who understands you and your job. The toll it takes on you. And, most importantly, someone who loves you for who you are." He offered a subdued smile, wondering when she'd gotten so wise.

She lightened the sombre mood. "There, that concludes my 'Words to Live by' for the day. Think about it."

* * *

He listened to the sounds of Frannie's packing as he sat on the sofa in the living room. His eyes happened upon the bookshelves that Sam had rearranged during her stay. A smile flitted across his face when he saw her in his mind's eye, hard at work at her task despite her drunken state.

Once again, he contemplated his discussions with Frannie, like he had over the past two days. More specifically her question about what was holding him back. At the start, he'd declined on account of trying to protect Sam. His own fears had led him to a devil's trap of self-doubt. Thankfully, she'd gotten through to him and had persuaded him to keep an open mind.

He reminisced the weekend they'd spent together. He held no illusions that their life together would stay that harmonious or blissful, but that was the thing: it would be _a life_. Together with Sam and their families. A month ago, he couldn't have envisioned such a thing.

He also felt more at peace with his feelings. Knowing that Sam knew, welcomed and reciprocated them was like a benediction from above. He didn't have to fight his feelings anymore.

He needed to take the final step and trust Sam. After all, she'd told him that everything else would sort itself out. When the cab honked on the street, he knew where he wanted to go. What he wanted to do.

Frances dashed out of her room, lugging around her suitcase. He jumped up from the sofa and rounded it, taking the suitcase from her. She gave the surroundings one last look, then smiled at her dad and uttered: "I'll be back before you know it."

He walked her to the taxi waiting on the kerb. "Are you sure you have everything?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," she replied, checking her handbag for the essential items.

"Enough money for the cabs and something to eat on the plane?" he checked.

"Yes! I promise I won't get arrested for trying to do a drive-and-dash and I won't starve to death," she shot back. They'd reached the cab.

"Good. Thank you, sweetheart, for your visit."

"No need to thank me. I'll see you in a couple of weeks. I'll call you later." She handed her suitcase to the driver who stowed it in the trunk.

"You should probably call me on my cell phone," he replied cryptically. Meaning that she wouldn't reach him on the land line. She put two and two together.

"I'm happy for you, Daddy," she uttered and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Let me know how it goes, and soon. Bye."

"Bye, sweetheart." He watched on as she stepped into the vehicle, put her seat belt on and waved at him from the departing cab. He waved back and watched the vehicle until it took a left at the street corner. Then, he strode into the house. He needed to pack his things.

* * *

Sam tossed aside the book she'd been reading, frustrated at her own lack of concentration. She wondered, not for the first time that day, whether or not she should call Bailey again. She'd called in the morning and they'd talked briefly before he went on a walk around the neighborhood with Frances. She wanted to know how he would pass his evening, now that his daughter had left. She reached for the phone and dialled his home number, but no one picked up. His cell phone was busy. She decided to try again later.

She checked the time from her wrist watch. It was just after eight. She got up, stretched straight her frame and headed for the den, where, sure enough, her daughter was still surfing. "Chlo, your time's up."

"Just another five minutes, please Mom? I'm chatting with Amber."

Sam wasn't persuaded by her pleading tone. "What's wrong with just calling Amber? Close the computer, sweetie."

Chloe heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine. I'll just let her know." She turned back to the screen and typed in a few words. Sam walked away, leaving her daughter to her business.

She ambled to the kitchen, felt a slight pang of guilt at the sight of the dirty dishes in the sink, but pushed it away. They would wait until morning. She took a look inside the fridge, feeling peckish and wanting to see if something would call her name. But she found her appetite to be lacking, so she opted for a glass of water. She grabbed a glass and turned on the faucet, waiting for the water to turn cold.

She let her eyes sweep across the scenery afforded by the large kitchen windows. She froze when she noticed a Harley on her driveway. His Harley. She leaned forward to see him walking to the front door, carrying bags in his hands. She rushed off to the door, the running faucet quite forgotten in her joy at his unannounced arrival. He'd come to stay.

She waited to hear his steps on the porch, and then she threw the door open, her heart making tiny somersaults. He beamed and greeted her: "So I have this vacation time coming up. Many years' worth, in fact."

"Really? So?" she teased him, trying to compose herself.

"And I didn't want to spend it alone," he added with a meaningful gaze under his brows.

"I see," she responded sounding clueless, feigning ignorance at the intended meaning of his words.

He lifted his hands to get her to make note of his bags. "So, here I am. Also, I'm unemployed at the moment, so my stay might end up being indefinite."

"Wow, you're really picking up speed there. How could I refuse an offer like that?" she laughed out loud. She looked at him properly, then backed up to make way for him and gestured him inside. She watched as he stepped closer, her senses prickling at his closeness. He passed her without a kiss and she deflated, feeling disappointed. No grand beginning of their happily ever after.

He set the bags on the floor and she closed the door, chiding him good-naturedly: "Still no hello, Malone. I don't know what I'll have to..." She was silenced by the sensation of being wheeled around and pinned to the door. He covered her body with his and ran his fingers up her sides, then under her arms and over them in a tantalizing friction. His moving hands stopped at her neck, his thumbs angling her head up a little.

He claimed her lips, kissing her gently before applying more pressure and deepening the kiss. A little noise of displeasure escaped from her throat when she sensed that he was disengaging. He smiled against her lips and continued the lovely pressure again, causing her to hum. He pulled back after a while, lessening her disappointment with brief, sweet kisses.

He tucked her hair behind each ear and looked into her dark blue eyes. "Hello."

Sam had to clear her throat to make a sound. "Now that was a proper hello." She placed a gentle kiss on his lips, ready for round two.

Their tender reunion was interrupted by Chloe, who'd ventured into the kitchen unaware of the proceedings at the door. "Mom? Why's the sink overflowing with water?"

Sam's eyes widened, she swore under her breath and hurried to the kitchen, leading a chuckling Bailey by the hand.

The day was the third Monday since Sam had come back into Bailey's life. On the following Friday, it would be one year to the day since Jack kidnapped her and shot him. Out of that day's wreckage would arise a miracle never to happen again: their life together.

_THE END_

_(Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride. I can't take credit for the 'action figures' quip. I stole that gem from one of the script versions for "Ring of Fire" by Nancy Miller.)_


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